Deus Ex Reborn
by Patrick W
Summary: The original Deus Ex has one of the most complex and engaging stories in the history of video games.  The release of the latest chapter in the Deus Ex saga has inspired me novelize the original story and so bring back to life the game that started it all.
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

CHAPTER 1 - PROLOGUE

"The one who cannot see that on Earth a big endeavor is taking place, an important plan, on which realization we are allowed to collaborate as faithful servants, certainly has to be blind." – Winston Churchill

OCTOBER 26, 2051

Area 51, Groom Lake, Nevada

Robert Page stifled a grimace as he emerged from the massive subterranean facility. The complex below was kept at a comfortable sixty eight degrees at all times. On the surface, however, temperatures were already well on their way past the century mark with no signs of slowing. A hot wind did little to ease the heat, instead stinging his face with bits of sand and grit.

Page wondered if prolonged exposure to these conditions could damage the delicate nanotechnological augmentations spread across his face. It certainly seemed strange that the United States government had decided this was a perfect place to test new technology. This facility had been established in the 1950s to test stealth aircraft for use in the impending war with the Soviet Union – a war which his predecessors had skillfully avoided while still taking advantage of the fear created by the threat of inescapable destruction.

Fear was something Bob Page understood almost implicitly. It was the most powerful tool mankind had ever wielded. In the hands of one as ambitious as himself it could be used to turn the world about its axis – as he had and would continue to do.

Publicly, Page was a trillionaire playboy and philanthropist, the founder and Chief Executive Officer of Page Industries. Page Industries led the world in developing and manufacturing robotics, pharmaceuticals, computer hardware, and defense technology. On this basis alone, Bob Page was one of the most powerful men on the planet. But his power ran deeper than what was apparent to the public. In truth, his real power came from his association with a cabal of powerful scientists and world leaders known as The Majestic Council of Twelve. Majestic-12 had been created with the ambitious goal of controlling the entire world's technological and communications infrastructure. Bob Page had accomplished that goal without firing a shot by building Page Industries into the global power it was today, destroying any competition that dared stand in his way.

Page Industries had facilities and subsidiaries around the globe, all of which performed the legitimate work which gave Page and in turn Majestic-12 the influence it needed to accomplish its mission. Very few knew that the real headquarters of Page Industries lay deep below the surface of the Nevada desert at a facility once known colloquially as Area 51.

This place had once been the nexus of countless conspiracy theories, as the purported resting place of numerous alien bodies and their spacecraft which had crashed in Roswell, New Mexico. These stories were publicly denied by the government, which only lent credence to their validity. What better way to stop potential spies and leaks than to hang a lantern over the facility with a false story of an alien cover-up, marginalizing anyone who would speak out about what really went on beneath the surface of the very real and very secret facility.

The mystique surrounding this place was why Bob Page had chosen it for his personal playground. He kept his best people here under lock and key, working around the clock to bring his plans to fruition. Most were certifiable geniuses in their fields, but none of them were capable of comprehending the true nature of his plans. Efficient worker ants, they performed their assigned tasks with alacrity, ignorant of how the pieces fit together in the end. Compartmentalization was key to ensuring the security of their operations. Had the worker ants realized the true nature of their work, most would have been too horrified to continue.

Take, for example, their stunning breakthroughs in nanotechnology. For decades, human augmentation had been a hot button issue around the globe. People were more than willing to sacrifice bits of the flesh that made them human in favor of the superior abilities provided through modern technology. They replaced limbs and organs with mechanical equivalents in order to enhance their abilities and performance. However, the public had never grown comfortable with the walking monstrosities these augmented soldiers became. Social acceptance of these individuals would never become a reality.

Page and his team had worked diligently to discover the next breakthrough in human augmentation technology. Physiopharmaceutical augmentation had been a stepping stone along the way. Through pharmaceutical augmentation and psychological conditioning, the team of scientists had created a new series of augmented soldiers. These soldiers were superior to natural human beings, able to withstand incredible amounts of damage without any degradation in performance. They were absolutely loyal and fearless. Without the mechanical limbs of their predecessors, they were capable of blending in better with the public, although their augmentation resulted in a genetic predisposition that caused their skin to appear albino.

That had not been enough for Bob Page. He wanted technology that would enable him to obtain absolute power and eternal life. A life of maintaining metal augmentations or suffering through painful pharmaceutical treatments did not justify the slight increase in physical strength or abilities. Thus far none of these augmentations had been able to improve upon the most important organ of the human body – the human mind.

Page had understood what would be necessary to accomplish this goal long before he had discovered the means to make it possible. In the 2020s, while mechanical augmentation was just becoming widespread, he had already begun working towards his ultimate goal – nanotechnological augmentation.

The task was a daunting one to be sure. The Majestic-12 scientists had to discover a way to create a self-replicating nanite that was capable of interacting symbiotically with biological material. These nanites had to be able to receive messages directly from the mind and reply with information the mind was capable of comprehending. Bob Page himself had made the breakthrough discovery that made this possible. Instead of developing technology to interface with a grown human, they had to study a young human still in the early years of development to understand the most likely areas to target.

A study of the secret census performed during the small pox vaccinations of the mid 20th century allowed Majestic-12 to build a genetic database of potential candidates for nanotechnological augmentation. Agents of Majestic-12 were installed around the world, posing as doctors and nurses in order to keep track of the most likely candidates. They waited for an inevitable series of events statistically guaranteed to happen, preferably with little outside interference.

This series of events occurred when two potential candidates were introduced by their doctor, a grandfatherly figure who seemed strangely intent on playing matchmaker for two of his young, single patients. The two candidates met, fell in love, and married in order to produce the results the Majestic-12 team surrounding them had hoped for. Little did the new family realize that most of their friends, neighbors, and even their family doctor studied their every move, protecting them from any who would do them harm in order to ensure the successful results of their biological experiment. After their son was born, the family doctor performed all of the usual tests and a few unusual tests in order to verify that they had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. The boy was genetically perfect for nanotechnological augmentation. His immune system would tolerate the nanotech infusions without destroying them, and he suffered from no allergic reactions. He was not predisposed towards any genetic diseases or cancers and he showed signs of becoming highly intelligent.

The team waited five years after the child was born, continuing to study his every move in secret. The household was bugged and wired of course, but beyond this their friends, neighbors, daycare workers, and school nurses continued to monitor their test subject. After the boy turned five the Majestic-12 scientists took several genetic samples during a checkup with the family doctor and created a number of clones. These clones were brought to term by women employed by Majestic-12 with no understanding of the true purpose behind their pregnancies. The women only knew that once they gave birth they would never see the child again, although they were handsomely rewarded for their nine months of service. The clones were experimented upon in ways they could not have done so with the real child without causing permanent damage. Most of these experiments left the clones brain-dead and comatose. Eventually the team learned from their mistakes and made nano-augmentation a reality.

However, their success was not yet complete. It was not enough to simply bring a cloned embryo to term and expect a successful augmentation. Even a cloned embryo was affected slightly by the genetic differences in the surrogate mothers. There were too many random variables to take into account to create truly replicable results. The brains of the clones developed subtle differences as unique as the structure of snowflakes. For the moment, they had to return to a control group – the original mother of the primary unit.

The family doctor had seen to it that the original mother was unable to have more children without the consent of Majestic-12. A simple nanite pill disguised as medication for post partum depression had done the job nicely, eating away at her ovaries until they were as useless as a second appendix. Her inability to give her husband a second child bothered her to no end, and she feared it might eventually erode their marriage. When the family doctor offered her a chance to be a paid participant in a study of a revolutionary new procedure that would allow her to become pregnant again, she eagerly accepted the proposition.

Instead of performing a revolutionary surgery on the mother, however, they merely implanted her with a cloned embryo of the primary unit. Nine months later, the secondary unit was born, with signs of showing even more promise than his older brother.

Not long after this the Majestic-12 scientists developed technology that would allow them to bring a clone to term through incubation, removing the random variables that had plagued them to this point. The team of scientists hidden in plain sight around the experimental family continued to study them and report their findings. The success or failure of the project as a whole depended on their data.

As the children continued to grow, the primary unit reached maturity and left home to join UNATCO. The United Nations Anti-Terrorist Coalition, a branch of the U.N., had been created to combat terrorism around the world. The primary unit's performance at the UNATCO Academy provided useful benchmarks for his potential as a nano-augmented agent should he later be recruited by Majestic-12. Physically, he was in a class of his own. Intellectually, he was untouchable as well. However, his instructors reported him to be unpredictable and difficult to control. He even went so far as to disobey orders that were morally questionable. This independence was no doubt a result of the upbringing he had received from his parents, and would render him useless as an agent for the more objectionable missions Majestic-12 required of their operatives. Bob Page considered eliminating the unit in a training accident in order to control a potentially free variable in the equation, but decided against it. He would be a good test subject for the nano-augmentation procedure they would use on the secondary unit when he was old enough.

Majestic-12 agents disguised as UNATCO instructors approached the primary unit and revealed that he was a rare candidate for a new experimental procedure that would make him the strongest and fastest soldier in UNATCO. The boy underwent the nanotechnological augmentation shortly before his final performance examination at the UNATCO Academy. The procedure was successful, as expected, and the augmentations enabled him to deliver a record breaking performance on the exam. The primary unit's parents could not have been more proud of their son, who graduated at the top of his class. He was recognized at his graduation ceremony as the first nano-augmented agent of UNATCO. Top diplomats from the United Nations were in attendance, as was Bob Page himself, albeit with more discretion than his boisterous colleagues who toasted the success of their new super soldier. Page was not convinced that he would be the soldier they needed. The last thing they needed was a super soldier who questioned orders.

The psychological counselors on the team argued that the random variables in the upbringing of a child in an American household were too numerous to ensure the reliability of an agent. Bob Page agreed, and removed the two greatest variables from the equation – the parents. It was done professionally by a team of trained Majestic-12 assassins posing as agents of a terrorist faction. The results could hardly have been more ideal. The primary unit vowed to avenge their deaths through his work at UNATCO. To protect his younger brother from the truth, as he was not even ten years old at the time, he let him believe their parents had died in a car accident.

With the family of their most promising agent in ruins, UNATCO generously financed the secondary unit's education at a private school in Switzerland. All of this played perfectly into the plans of Majestic-12, who were now able to directly influence the upbringing of the secondary unit while the primary unit underwent field testing. If there were any problems with the nano-augmentation process they would be fixed before he underwent the same procedure.

In the secondary unit they had a blank slate – a perfect candidate for nano-augmentation still young enough for psychological molding into the perfect agent. For a time, the primary was almost forgotten as he continued his work at UNATCO. The secondary unit thrived in the controlled environment of the Swiss school. He received stellar marks in every subject and showed great physical prowess as well. The school instilled in him the value of unquestioning loyalty. The boy would be trained to follow orders without question, a skill reportedly lacking in the primary unit according to the reports from UNATCO.

When the time came, the secondary unit eagerly agreed to follow in his older brother's footsteps and joined UNATCO. He too received nanotechnological augmentation without incident and went on to match his brother's successes in training. He never suspected that every event of his entire life had been scripted to mold him into the perfect soldier, un-matched in abilities and loyalties. He had been so successfully indoctrinated that he might not have objected if he learned the truth of his upbringing. They would not take the chances of revealing that truth, of course.

Now Bob Page found himself standing at the crossroads of a major decision. The secondary unit appeared to be everything they needed and more in a star agent. His successes had only shown more light on the failures of their original candidate. The primary unit's moral inflexibilities were affecting his work, and he had several times snatched failure from the jaws of victory due to his unwillingness to take the life of another when so ordered. However, he was being given yet another chance to prove his worth to his benefactors. If he continued to fail, they would have no choice but to prepare to remove him from the equation and focus their efforts on the secondary unit. It would be no great loss, since he was nothing more than a proof of concept after all. Both brothers had been conceived as an experiment to verify the validity of nano-augmentation, and the results of that experiment had already been used to begin rolling out the technology on a larger scale. Bob Page and several of his most trusted associates were proof of that, having successfully received the nano-augmentation procedure.

All of these thoughts passed imperceptibly through Bob Page's mind as he walked from the cavernous bunker entrance of the Area 51 complex. From looking at Page's face one would think he did not have a care in the world. This skill was crucial to his success in the worlds of business and engineering.

Page approached the helipad outside the bunker and the waiting stealth helicopter. The pilot had already spun up the rotors and performed the preflight checks so there would be no delay. It was good to have such professionals working for him.

"Good morning, Mr. Page," the pilot greeted him over the intercom. "Name's Brian Flanagan, but my friends call me Jock."

Bob Page sighed inwardly. Perhaps he had been presumptuous in assuming this pilot was a professional. However, he seemed to handle the aircraft with skill. With barely a perceptible shift in momentum the helicopter was away and racing west across the desert. As the aircraft passed over what remained of California, Bob Page could not help but reminisce. He was driven by ego as much as any other powerful man. He had changed the shape of the nation quite literally by instigating a massive earthquake that had caused most of Southern California to fall into the sea. The truly beautiful part was that no one had thought to make a connection between the quake and the fact that several of the direct competitors of Page Industries had been headquartered there. The resulting governmental intervention had allowed Majestic-12 to further consolidate its power throughout the United States.

Bob Page's destination was the headquarters of VersaLife, the world leader in nanotechnology and the flagship subsidiary of Page Industries. The meeting taking place would be a secret affair. With the advent of modern technology, such a meeting could have easily been established using holographic communication devices mass produced by none other than Page Industries. However, some information was too secret even for the heavily controlled wireless and fiber optic networks which made up the global communication systems.

Bob Page allowed his mind to continue to wander as they raced across the Pacific Ocean. In the past, this trip would have been impossible without several dangerous mid-air refuelings. The advent of the Page Industries Ethanol Fuel Cell had enabled such aircraft to travel well over nine thousand miles without refueling. Its thermoptic camouflage rendered it virtually invisible to everything but the most discerning naked eye. It was the perfect aircraft for discreet trips such as this.

If there was one flaw the trillionaire technocrat found in himself it was his inability to stop his mind from turning over the possibilities. Sleep was a rare occurance, although the necessity for it had been eliminated by his nanotechnological implants. The implants had the same regenerative effects on his body as natural sleep. Page used his hyperactive mind to its fullest potential, always scheming and planning and plotting his moves ten and sometimes twenty or more moves in advance. Trips such as this provided a few hours of uninterrupted time to do his best thinking.

Dry land appeared beneath the helicopter, announcing their arrival over the People's Republic of China. China was and had been for several years the world's largest superpower, having replaced the United States and Europe as the global center for education and industry. As such, it was only natural that the brightest stars in international business and technology should get their start there. The fact that the government of China was the first genuinely successful experiment in centralized government, largely due to the involvement of Majestic-12, certainly didn't hurt in Page's mind.

VersaLife was headquartered in downtown Hong Kong, the last remaining vestige for economic freedom in the PRC. The thriving black market beneath the towers of the city played right into the plans of Majestic-12. The organization had not yet completely subjugated the local gangs, known as Triads, to their will, although that objective was close at hand.

The helicopter circled the rooftop helipad of VersaLife once before easing down towards the surface. The pilot expertly flared the aircraft before gently rocking it down to the rooftop. Without a word of gratitude, Bob Page extricated from the helicopter and approached the rooftop elevator, which opened as he approached. Waiting in the elevator was a ubiquitous underling, always eager to welcome the executive. The employee's name and role appeared through Page's optical implants, overlaying over his visible spectrum: _Richard Hundley, Shift Supervisor_. Bob Page silenced him with a gesture before he could begin the routine platitudes. The elevator took Page down to the main floor, where he dutifully signed in at the main desk. Even a powerful individual such as himself felt the need to keep up appearances, after all.

The executive passed through the offices that made up the legitimate front end of VersaLife. He caught the furtive glances from workers over the tops of cubicles, all of whom quickly averted their eyes when they realized who was walking among them. Page smiled inwardly, enjoying the respect and fear he wielded. Justifiably so, he mused. Hundley followed in tow, like a loyal dog following his master.

Page and Hundley approached the controlled-access elevator which led deep below the surface to the bowels of the building. It was down there that the real work behind VersaLife happened, well away from the prying eyes of the public. Upon arriving at the bottom of the elevator shaft, Page emerged into the impressive atrium of the laboratory levels. The atrium was an expansive hallway carved from red marble. Prominently featured in the center of the atrium was a large globe which seemed to hover in mid air as a large black marble hand reached around as if to grasp the Earth. The statue represented the global domination toward which Majestic-12 continually strived.

Page noticed that Hundley had not followed him out of the elevator. Instead, he waited patiently for the doors to close so he could resume his duties supervising the menial office work up on the surface. Without being told, he had understood that he was not wanted or needed after arriving at the laboratories. Such insight was why he had been granted supervisorial rank.

Page noticed the increased security almost immediately. Upstairs, the security guards were mostly for show. Most weren't even armed with heavy weapons. However, one couldn't simply stumble into the lower levels of VersaLife. Security at these levels was trusted to the most elite of the Majestic-12 commandos. These troops were equipped with powerful weapons and armor. They were supervised, in turn, by physiopharmaceutically augmented agents, dressed in black suits with heavy sunglasses to disguise their unnaturally albino skin. These men and women in black were conditioned to be trustworthy enough to watch over the watchers of this most secret of Majestic-12 facilities.

As Page walked towards the statue he noticed that his protégé was already waiting for him beneath the grasping hand. Page had never once known Walton Simons to be late for a meeting. Simons was ever punctual, dependable, and above all else loyal. He had been a natural choice to receive the nanotechnological augmentation after the success of the procedure on the experimental units. Simons was one of the most dangerous men on the planet, even without his nano-augmented abilities. Aside from his legendary skills in hand-to-hand combat and gunfighting, Simons was the most ruthless bureaucrat Page had ever known. He always spoke with a monotone, never allowing himself to show an ounce of excitement, even while his words coerced and commanded those around him.

Bob Page spoke first, setting the tone for the meeting. "Your appointment to FEMA should be finalized within the week. I've already discussed the matter with the Senator."

"I take it he was agreeable?" asked Simons.

"He didn't really have a choice." Page allowed himself a smirk.

"Has he been infected?"

"Oh yes, most certainly. When I mentioned that we could put him on the priority list for the Ambrosia vaccine, he was so willing it was almost pathetic."

"This plague," Simons spoke, showing a rare ounce of concern, "The rioting is intensifying to the point where we may not be able to contain it."

Simons referred to the plague known on the street as the Gray Death, a global pandemic which had seemingly arrived overnight. It was a horrific disease that attacked its victims at the cellular level, breaking down the bonds that held the body together. The body's response was to attack the afflicted organs, quite literally destroying itself one cell at a time. The mortality rate of the disease hovered near one hundred percent, and the death was a slow painful affair that horrified those not yet infected. Already almost ten percent of the global population was afflicted, and there was no known cure - at least none that had been allowed to be created. Like most pandemics, immunologists had been unable to identify a patient zero, although they had theorized that the outbreak could have started anywhere from an African monkey to a New York sewer rat. The World Health Organization and the Center for Disease Control and Prevention worked tirelessly to isolate the vectors the disease used to spread.

VersaLife had developed a nanite capsule, known as Ambrosia, which was able to protect a healthy individual from becoming infected by the Gray Death. Unlike most vaccines, Ambrosia could also control the symptoms of the infected, prolonging their lives so long as they continued taking regular doses. The exact mechanism of how it accomplished this miraculous feat was a carefully guarded secret. Occasionally a brilliant mind not under the influence of Page Industries would make a breakthrough and have to be subjugated. Most of them willingly abandoned their research, being paid massive sums of money and left with the impression that VersaLife was merely trying to protect their domination of the marketplace with their Ambrosia vaccine. Anyone who was afflicted with the Gray Death would have to pay the exorbitant fees charged by VersaLife for their doses if they wished to avoid the painful death that awaited them. Their control of the Ambrosia vaccine allowed Majestic-12 to coerce anyone on the planet to do their bidding. Presidents and Premiers feared the disease as much as anyone else.

"Why contain it?" Page asked rhetorically. "Let it spill over into the schools and churches, let the bodies pile up in the streets. In the end, they'll beg us to save them."

"I've received reports of armed attacks on shipments. There's not enough vaccine to go around, and the underclasses are starting to get desperate."

"Of course they're desperate. They can smell their death, and the sound they'll make rattling their cage will serve as a warning to the rest."

"I hope you're not underestimating the problem." Was that a hint of reproach Page detected in his subordinate's voice? "The others may not go as quietly as you think - intelligence indicates they're behind the problems in Paris."

Simons referred to the French terrorist group, Silhouette. They had allied themselves with freedom fighters around the world in a quest to expose the existence of Majestic-12 and their control of the Ambrosia vaccine. Unlike most terrorist groups, they fought their war with words and ideas instead of bombs and bullets. Silhouette routinely subverted media outlets through computer hacking, getting their message out to millions of individuals before their signal could be shut down. Most of their attacks were nothing more than intellectual pranks, but they were still a persistent thorn in Majestic-12's side. They had attempted to link Silhouette with the murder of several European politicians and journalists who had opposed Majestic-12, but this had done little to stop Silhouette directly.

"A bunch of pretentious old men playing at running the world. But the world left them behind long ago. We are the future." Page replied confidently.

"We have other problems," Simons continued.

"UNATCO?" asked Page.

"Brought to the U.S. by executive order after the terrorist strike on the Statue."

Page remembered that day as a great victory for Majestic-12. By detonating a bomb within the Statue of Liberty and framing Silhouette for the bombing they had struck several key blows for their cause. They had given the President all the justification he needed to bring the U.N.'s anti-terrorism force onto American soil, further tightening the grip which the United Nations had on the world. They had also seriously damaged the reputation of Silhouette as a peaceful resistance movement. Majestic-12 had convinced the world that Silhouette had blown up the statue because they felt France had been wrong to give the statue to the United States. Their fingerprints had been invisible.

"I have someone in place, though," Simons continued, referring to their mole in UNATCO. "I'm more concerned about Savage - he's relocated to Vandenberg."

Gary Savage represented one of the few errors in judgment Bob Page had made in his life. He should have had him killed years ago. Instead, he had brought him to Area 51 and put him to work on the early nanoaugmentation project. When Savage had realized the full scope of the project, he had rebelled, destroying several key pieces of technology and escaping with several members of his team. Savage had set up shop at Vandenberg Air Force Base where he was attempting to work to undermine the efforts of Majestic-12. They even had the gall to name their band of scientists "X-51" in order to proclaim their opposition to their former masters. They were an annoyance, to be sure, but not a serious theat. If they told the public what they knew no one would take them seriously. Some things were simply too unbelievable to be true.

"Our biochem corpus is far in advance of theirs, as is our electronic sentience," Page replied, trying to reassure himself. "And their... ethical inflexibility has allowed us to make progress in areas they refuse to consider."

"The augmentation project?"

"Among other things – but I must admit that I have been somewhat disappointed in the performance of the primary unit."

"The secondary unit should be online soon. It's currently undergoing preparation and will be operational within six months. My people will continue to report on his progress. If necessary, the primary will be terminated."

"We've had to endure much, you and I, but soon there will be order again, a new age. Aquinas spoke of the mythical City on the Hill. Soon that city will be a reality, and we will be crowned its kings." Page's augmented red eyes managed to convey a gleam of mirth which bordered on madness. "Or better than kings. Gods."


	2. Chapter 2 Six Months Later

CHAPTER 2 - SIX MONTHS LATER

APRIL 14, 2052

Wan Chai Market District, Hong Kong, People's Republic of China

The assassin had been waiting for hours for the opportunity to take this shot. He had, in fact, spent days researching the best time and place from which to take it. All of his hard work had paid off, as he now had a clear line of sight to his objective through the window of the office building. The office space had been rented on a month-to-month basis by a dummy corporation so as to leave no fingerprints behind after the deed was done.

The assassin gazed across the marketplace below over the walls of the heavily fortified compound. The moment his target stuck his head out it would be reduced to a puff of red smoke by the powerful 30.06mm round fired from the suppressed sniper rifle tucked against his shoulder. With luck, the bodyguards surrounding his target wouldn't even see the flash of the rifle, allowing the assassin to make a quick and silent getaway onboard the stealth helicopter that waited for him on the roof of the building.

His target was a senior member of the Luminous Path triad, one of the many criminal organizations still prevalent in Hong Kong. As of late, the Luminous Path triad had been involved in a bloody gang war with an opposing faction, the Red Arrow triad. How this conflict affected his employer and how this target was involved was a mystery to the assassin. He wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to point and shoot who he was told without question.

However, his employer had further sweetened the deal for him. The assassin had been told that this man was responsible for a great tragedy from his past, and that this would be his chance for retribution. Now this was personal.

The assassin almost missed his opportunity when it came. Without warning the target appeared in the doorway of the compound and walked towards the marketplace to get a meal at the small restaurant he frequented at roughly the same time each day. The target was flanked on both sides by armed bodyguards, but the shot was still clear. The assassin slowed his breathing, pulling the weapon in tight to steady the reticles of the scope over a point just above the target's left eye. He gently began pulling the trigger towards him, trying not to anticipate the recoil of the rifle as the round exited, which might cause him to inadvertently adjust his aim. Just a millimeter farther now and his mission would be a success.

But he couldn't do it.

Paul Denton set the weapon down in disgust at the act he had almost carried out. He didn't care how badly UNATCO wanted this man dead. Tracer Tong was a scientist - a civilian - and police forces didn't go around shooting unarmed civilians. It didn't help matters that he had gotten to know Tong personally over the last few months.

Paul Denton exited the office building and approached the marketplace. The only weapon he still carried was his stealth pistol, a silenced 10mm handgun useful on quiet operations like this. It wouldn't matter if it came down to a firefight. Tong's bodyguards would be better armed and on alert after the recent violence between the triads.

Joseph Manderley, Director of UNATCO, had personally briefed Paul on his current mission.

"Paul, this next mission is going to be a difficult test for you, but a necessary one." Manderley had begun. "For the last six months you've been working with Tracer Tong, a senior member of the Luminous Path triad, to discover a suspected link between the Hong Kong triads and international terrorist factions around the globe. A mole within the triads has revealed to us that the link is none other than Tong himself. The Coalition is concerned as to how you worked with Tong for so many months without discovering this for yourself. Some of them are openly suspicious about your actions in Hong Kong. They think Tong might have flipped you into becoming a double agent. The Coalition is giving you the chance to make this right and eliminate Tong yourself."

"Paul, there's something else you need to know about Tracer Tong," Manderley had continued. "We've discovered evidence that he personally ordered the hit on your family fifteen years ago to send a message to UNATCO. He didn't like the thought of UNATCO having nano-augmented agents jeopardizing global terrorism operations."

Paul had needed a full ten seconds to process what he had been told before responding, "How are we just finding this out? I've been working with this man for almost six months and I had no idea!"

"You have to believe me, Paul," Manderley had pleaded. "We had no idea. You have your orders, and I trust you have sufficient information to carry them out without question this time."

The briefing had left Paul with more questions than answers, and the flight to Hong Kong hadn't given him enough time to make sense of it all. Even now, as he approached the marketplace restaurant where Tong sat with his bodyguards, he still didn't know what to believe. This flew in the face of everything Paul knew about the man, and he refused to carry out the order without being sure it was the right call.

Paul almost lost his balance as he walked, reliving the most painful memory of his life. He was again walking along the boardwalk behind the United Nations Headquarters building in New York City with his mother and father. They were celebrating his graduation from the UNATCO Academy, slightly intoxicated from the drinks at the reception ceremony. They didn't have a care in the world. Paul's only regret had been that his brother J.C. had been too young to attend the ceremony. None of them paid any attention to the nondescript black van parked alongside the boardwalk or noticed when four men in black suits emerged armed with automatic shotguns. At the last moment Paul's UNATCO training kicked in and he stepped in front of his parents to take on their mysterious assailants. Paul activated every defensive augmentation he had, preparing to face the assailants unarmed but not unprotected.

The first man in black dropped a device on the ground in front of Paul, who recognized it at the last moment - an electromagnetic pulse grenade. The device sent a shockwave of EMP in every direction, disabling Paul's nano-augmentations as if someone had thrown a switch. The pain sent him to the ground clutching his stomach in the fetal position. With Paul out of the way, the men in black raised their shotguns and fired, sending a torrent of pellets tearing through the bodies of his parents. Paul was powerless to act as he watched his parents fall to the ground in a bloody heap. Paul struggled to pull himself to his feet as the men in black calmly re-entered the black van, which sped away down the boardwalk. Paul screamed in frustration at the injustice of the act and his failure to stop it.

The man responsible for the cold-blooded murder of his parents might be sitting at a table not ten meters away, not realizing how closely death had already brushed past his face. But no, Paul did not believe Tong to be capable of such a thing.

Paul approached Tracer Tong's table, instantly drawing the wary attention of the two bodyguards standing to each side. One pointed a weapon at Paul while the other began scanning the area for an unseen threat as if Paul were merely a distraction. Looking at the bodyguards, Paul tried to remember the faces of his parents' murderers. They had been deathly pale, possibly albino. Paul remembered thinking how strange it had been that they wore sunglasses so long after the sun had set. The assailants looked nothing like the olive-skinned men before him now.

"I'm surprised to see you again Paul," Tracer Tong spoke in English with a heavy accent. "UNATCO has declared me a persona non grata in my own homeland. And I'm told they wanted you to believe I was responsible for the deaths of your parents."

"I almost believed them, too. But they were bound to discover the truth about your connections eventually, Tong. You've been making some powerful enemies."

"Some of whom apparently influence the organization you work for, Paul."

"Don't remind me," Paul spat out, disgusted at himself for almost being manipulated into killing a friend.

"I always knew you were too smart for them to manipulate," Tong observed with a smile, seemingly reading his mind. "The Majestic Council of Twelve depends too much on denying information to others to ever fully control the world. The truth always has a way of getting out."

"What happens now?" Paul asked after a moment of contemplation.

"You should go back to UNATCO and explain that you missed your opportunity to kill me and that I've gone underground. They will not be happy, but you will not be under suspicion as long as you do not flee."

As Paul turned to leave, Tracer Tong spoke one last time. "We must not be seen in public together again. It would be better that way for both of us."

Paul would never know that his every action had been monitored by a fellow UNATCO agent, who even now was composing a report to her superiors in her mind.

National Secessionist Forces Headquarters, New York City, New York

It was a dark time for the United States of America. The lamp of liberty had dimmed to the point where few could remember the land of prosperity this place had once been. Many had contributed to the dissolution of the American dream over the years while few had seen the problem for what it was. Even fewer took a stand and decided to do something about it.

Juan Ivanovich Lebedev was one of the few with the means to affect change and the willpower to do so. Lebedev was not what one expected to find in a freedom fighter. He had been born to a life of priviledge; heir to the international shipping conglomerate Lebedev Global. His inheritance had been provided him with a comfortable life complete with all of the trappings of power. But Lebedev had not been content to live a life of luxury while propagating a corrupt system which jeopardized the freedoms of people around the world. He saw his life as a binary decision. He could either serve or resist. He had decided many years ago to resist.

Lebedev had been involved with many resistance groups over the years. Most had stayed under the radar, plotting to affect change on a small scale to better avoid the unwanted attention of the governments they opposed. His first organized resistance group had been the New Sons of Freedom, based out of Idaho, Utah and Arizona. The NSF's roots lay in the militia groups that sprouted up after the deadly standoff at Waco in 1993. Originally they drew their roster from right-wing extremists and anti-government conspiracy theorists. For the most part they were not taken seriously by the general public. They were allowed to go about their business in survivalist camps they established in the remote wilderness in order to demonstrate, mostly to themselves, how little they needed from their government.

It was a humble beginning, to be sure, but even the largest tsunami begins its life as a gentle wave.

The movement had taken on a life of its own following the massive earthquake in 2030 that sunk most of Southern California into the ocean. In response to the disaster, the federal government focused all of its resources on what remained of the West Coast. As a result, the needs of several less populous states went unmet and would continue to for some time to come. One of these neglected states happened to be home to a large contingent of the New Sons of Freedom, who saw this as their greatest chance to finally bring about a real change. The governor of Utah realized these anti-government groups were no longer an extreme minority, but instead represented a majority of his constituency. He listened to their appeal and, much to everyone's surprise, agreed. The governor of Utah, with the consent of his state legislature, announced his decision to secede from the United States of America in 2031. Furthermore, Utah announced that it would be annexing what was left of Arizona and Nevada. Shortly after, paramilitary groups from Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming announced their decision to join with Utah and form the Northwest Secessionist Forces, in homage to the New Sons of Freedom who had begun the movement. The thought of a new civil war shocked the federal government into responding. They acted quickly to federalize the National Guard in the seceding states and quelled the movement before it could pick up any real momentum. A brief conflict was fought between the militia groups and the U.S. military. The Northwest War was short lived but not lacking in intensity. In the end, the attempt to secede failed and the militia groups withdrew to the shadows to bide their time, continuing their survivalist ways.

While the former NSF members waited, the American government continued to become increasingly authoritarian in nature. The general sentiment among the American people was that the government was trying to take control of every aspect of their lives. The people were ripe for revolution.

The NSF made its next move in 2042 after the Sporting Weapons Act passed, making illegal the private ownership of rifles, grenades, land mines, and other such collectibles. The militia groups moved in force to overthrow the federal government, led now by the fiery and charismatic Leon Woods. Now known as the National Secessionist Forces, the NSF marched east towards Washington. The federal government was quick to classify the NSF as a terrorist threat the likes of which the United States had not faced since Al Qaida. However, the prevailing sentiment across the nation was that the NSF was a liberating force attempting to overthrow an unjust government. Even after the death of their leader Leon Woods at his famous last stand in Squalnomie, the NSF continued gaining more strength across the country. If anything, the death of Woods only added to their resolve. The Second American Revolution continued on in the hearts of thousands across the nation.

Many had carried the torch for the NSF through the years, but few had suspected that the militia drew its finances from wealthy philanthropists such as Juan Lebedev. Lebedev had used his international contacts to ally the NSF with similarly-minded freedom fighters around the world. Some called them terrorists. Others called them patriots. In the end, if they were successful they would be remembered as heroes. If they failed, history would condemn them to irrelevancy.

Lebedev looked down from the third floor balcony of the warehouse he had helped transform into the local headquarters for the NSF. A lot of money had gone into making this place a self-sustaining haven for the NSF amidst a city replete with law enforcement dedicated to wiping them out. The vacant office spaces had been filled with all of the computer equipment necessary to run a covert communications network beneath the radar of the NSA, Homeland Security, and UNATCO. A massive generator powered a state of the art security system, complete with cameras and booby traps. There was enough weaponry and hardware on site to wage a small war. The lower levels of the warehouse could provide dozens of NSF soldiers a respite from the outside world; a place to be among fellow freedom fighters without fear of attack.

Tonight, the NSF headquarters was the site of the final preparations of the most ambitious mission ever undertaken by the resistance movement. Many would perish but their actions would change the course of the invisible war being fought on the streets and in the hearts of America.

Beside Lebedev stood Killian, a soldier to whom he entrusted his personal safety. Killian was a natural bodyguard, tall and barrel chested. He was also perhaps the most prolific shooter in the entire NSF. On numerous occasions attempts had been made on Lebedev's life, and to date none had come close to succeeding.

Lebedev returned to the control room, Killian following closely behind. The control room bustled with activity, lined with computer screens displaying mission objectives and targets. Here the NSF leadership waited for one final meeting before the operation began. The NSF commanders were dressed casually, so as to blend in with the rest of the population once they left this place. The regular soldiers of the NSF wore distinctive armored uniforms, complete with monocular digital eyepieces that acted as two-way communications devices and mission trackers. Lebedev had spared no expense to outfit his troops and they would need every advantage they could get. If things went south, however, Lebedev wanted his commanders to be able to disappear into a crowd and report back to him.

"Good evening, everyone," Lebedev began. "By now you all know your roles in tonight's operation. Colonel Gold, is your assault team in place?"

"My team is outfitting the speedboats at Battery Park as we speak," Leo Gold replied.

"Good," Lebedev nodded. "Commander Grimaldi, is the Battery Park facility ready to transfer the cargo?"

"Yes, sir. We've prepared the subway station to act as a line of defense after we move into the tunnels."

"Make sure your people know to do what they can to avoid collateral damage. The value of civilian casualties to UNATCO propaganda efforts is incalculable and will significantly set back our cause. Commanders Frase and Weld, is this facility ready for the UNATCO counter-attack?"

"We're as ready as we're going to be. We won't be able to avoid collateral damage in the streets once the fighting breaks out," Frase cautioned. "Especially with some of the local gang members we have along for the ride."

Frase referred to the mercenaries Lebedev had hired to help the NSF fulfill a mission they couldn't handle on their own. Traditionally the NSF gained its foothold in communities around the nation by allying themselves with dissident elements such as militias and gangs wherever they could find them. When such groups couldn't be convinced to join the resistance of their own free will, the NSF had proven willing to pay the locals for their trouble. The more idealistic NSF leaders believed this was part of winning the hearts and minds of the people, even if it did require fattening their wallets first.

Weld chimed in, "I've told my people their primary objective is to buy the subway team time to get the cargo out. Civilians are going to get caught in the crossfire and that can't be helped."

Lebedev conceded the point, "Very well. I just don't want to read about the NSF killing hostages tomorrow in the Midnight Sun." _If I'm alive to read the paper tomorrow_, he didn't add. "Decker, is our communications network secure?"

Decker Parkes, the NSF's resident computer genius, had been busily typing away at a computer console and hadn't expected to be included in this briefing. He awkwardly spun around in his swivel chair and attempted to collect his thoughts, "Um, yes, sir. The signal's five by five."

"Good. Because I want you to go with them to make sure it stays that way."

Decker started to object until Lebedev raised a hand, "Don't worry, Decker. I'll have Killian watching your back every step of the way."

Now it was Killian's turn to raise an eyebrow in silent objection. Killian knew his place was by Lebedev's side tonight to make sure nothing happened to his protectee. However, he was also too loyal to verbally object to an order. Decker relaxed visibly at the news.

"Timing and communication will be crucial tonight. You all know your tasks and I won't keep you any longer. Give your people this message for me: Our time is fast approaching; what we have always feared is upon us – we are fighting against our own imminent slavery. But you are brave, you are strong, and we will triumph."


	3. Chapter 3 The Attack

CHAPTER 3 - THE ATTACK

UNATCO Headquarters, Liberty Island, New York City, New York

"What the hell happened out there, Paul?" Joseph Manderley demanded.

Manderley sat behind an ornate wooden desk in a plush office at the heart of UNATCO Headquarters. The interior decorator had done an impressive job of disguising the fact that this office, like the rest of the complex, was little more than a reinforced concrete box deep beneath the surface of Liberty Island.

UNATCO had once been based out of the old United Nations building, but for years had not been allowed to have a presence beyond that on American soil. That had all changed one year ago after the Statue of Liberty bombing. President Philip Riley Mead had responded to the attack by drawing a line in the sand against terrorism and inviting UNATCO to move its headquarters to Liberty Island. President Mead had decided, controversially, to leave the statue in its damaged state as a reminder of why America needed to take its stand against terrorism. In the rare wave of patriotism that followed the attack, UNATCO had been welcomed onto American soil and now worked with law enforcement agencies around the nation.

Manderley didn't enjoy dressing down his agents like this. He always felt a bit hypocritical doing so since he had resigned himself to a life as a bureaucrat while others went into the field and risked their lives based on his orders. He had risen through the ranks at FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, before joining UNATCO. As a mid-level bureaucrat with UNATCO he had excelled at identifying terrorist groups around the world. His finest moment had been his combined campaign with Interpol against the Knights Templar in Europe, marking the end of the ancient medieval order. Now, having risen to his position as Director of UNATCO, his life was supposed to be easier. This should have been the pinnacle of his career, a prestigious assignment granted as a reward for a lifetime of loyal service. Instead, Manderley spent most of his time explaining the failures of his most promising agent.

Paul Denton stood before Manderley's desk, his face entirely neutral, "I took the shot and hit one of the target's bodyguards instead. His security team reacted professionally, getting the target underground in seconds. He's gone deep and I don't expect him to show his head again any time soon."

Manderley held his tongue and counted to ten before responding. His face grudgingly faded a few shades from bright scarlet to something resembling its normal hue. If there was one thing he despised more than incompetence it was a lie. But he couldn't let on that he knew Paul was lying.

"Paul, the Coalition isn't going to like this one bit. We had an opportunity to eliminate Tracer Tong and make it look like the work of the Red Arrow triad. We simply don't have the resources to dig him out of his compound without showing our hand. A terrorist is running free because of your incompetence. Get out of my sight." Manderley dismissed Paul with a wave of his hand.

Paul turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. "Have you heard anything about my brother?"

Manderley blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "He graduated at the top of his class at UNATCO Academy. Just like you. He'll be reporting for duty within the hour. Maybe you should go down to the South Dock to greet him."

Paul nodded and left without another word.

Manderley sighed and leaned back in his high-backed leather chair. He had expected great things from Paul Denton when he had reported for duty fifteen years ago. No one could have predicted that he would become one of UNATCO's biggest disappointments. Time after time Paul would question his assignments and had gone so far as to disobey orders on several occasions. As the director of UNATCO, Manderley was responsible for the success or failure of every operation. Paul Denton had chalked up several failures as of late and Manderley was growing tired of giving him second chances. He sincerely hoped J.C. would not be contaminated by his brother's failings.

Manderley touched a control on his computer interface which opened a direct comm link. "Janice, please send Anna and Gunther to my office."

"Right away, sir," Manderley's executive assistant, Janice Reed, replied.

Anna Navarre and Gunther Hermann were two of UNATCO's most experienced agents. Like all UNATCO agents, they were elite counterterrorism operatives. UNATCO recruited its members from the top agencies around the world. In the past, the world's finest operatives had enhanced their abilities through the use of mechanical augmentation. Since mechanical augmentations were frowned upon by polite society, most UNATCO soldiers received discrete neurological and ocular implants to enhance their abilities without sacrificing their abilities to interface with the public. Sometimes a situation called for a more direct response, and for that eventuality UNATCO had Anna and Gunther. Each had received heavy mechanical augmentation prior to being recruited by UNATCO. They represented the heavy artillery of the Coalition; unstoppable human tanks capable of undertaking the most dangerous assignments.

Anna and Gunther had both known they would be sacrificing social acceptance for mission performance when they had undergone their mechanical augmentations. For years they had known their decisions had been justified, and their many successes over the years spoke for themselves. However, in Paul Denton they had seen the end of their generation. No longer would young soldiers need to sacrifice their bodies in order to become stronger, faster, and more mission capable. Now a simple injection of nanotechnology could turn ordinary men and women into super soldiers and they didn't even have to become disfigured. Aside from a strange glow behind the eyes one could look at Paul Denton and not even tell him apart from a natural human. Paul's arrival had threatened to jeopardize their positions as UNATCO's designated hitters. Fortunately for them, Paul's performance had been woefully disappointing. That didn't stop them from resenting Paul for his augmentations, even if he failed to use them properly.

Anna and Gunther arrived and stood before Manderley's desk.

"Thank you both for coming," Manderley began. "As you know, our family is growing larger tonight."

Manderley fought the urge to react to the way they both shifted uncomfortably on their feet at the mention of another nanotech agent.

"J.C. Denton will be joining us tonight and I'm assigning you both the task of keeping an eye on him. I've trusted you with the deepest secrets of our agency, and I know that trust has been returned through your unyielding loyalty. I trust you both to do your utmost to ensure he becomes a successful and productive member of this organization. I don't want his brother's failures to overshadow him. Until further notice, I'd like to receive weekly reports with your observations."

Anna and Gunther both nodded.

"Good. One more thing. We're receiving another shipment of the Ambrosia vaccine tonight and there has been some agitated chatter on the Net. I want you both to—"

Manderley was interrupted by the wail of klaxons accompanied by the flashing of emergency lights throughout the complex. Manderley pounded his console, "Janice, what the hell is going on?"

"Mr. Manderley, this is Private Lloyd at the main entrance," a new voice responded instead. "I'm hearing gunfire from across the island. We're under attack, sir!"

"Lock down the building!" Manderley shouted.

Gunther raced from the room, yelling a battle cry as he raced towards the main entrance. Anna watched him round a corner and sighed, shaking her head. She would let the brute handle this one.

North Dock, Liberty Island, New York City, New York

The NSF had achieved their first objective without taking a single loss.

Their target had been a barge offloading a massive shipment of the Ambrosia vaccine onto the North Dock of Liberty Island. The security had been surprisingly lax, with just a handful of UNATCO troopers standing idly by as they watched the squat tank-like robotic crew wheel the cargo onto the dock. The NSF had struck without warning from the water, taking difficult shots from the approaching speedboats and eliminating the UNATCO troopers. The guards fell dead before they even knew to reach for their weapons. The robotic crew didn't seem to mind that the uniforms of the people now securing the cargo did not match the standard UNATCO green.

The crates of Ambrosia were impossibly heavy. The Ambrosia vaccine was super-concentrated and this shipment alone was supposedly enough for millions of doses after proper refinement.

While several of the stronger NSF soldiers hefted the crates onto the speedboats, the rest fanned out across the docks. They found positions from which to cover their boats as well as the ramp to the rest of the island. This was not the time to relax, lest the operation go south before it had even begun.

Leo Gold stood on the dock and watched with pride as his men executed their plan to perfection. Beside him, Decker fidgeted nervously while Killian scanned the area for unseen threats. Both seemed to be thinking things were going far too easily.

Without warning a lone figure emerged from the dock house. The NSF troopers swiveled to train their weapons on the new figure instinctively, but quickly shifted their aim when they saw who it was.

"Harley Filben, you old dog," Leo Gold said with a smile, "I can't believe you're this close to getting your hands dirty!"

Harley Filben was one of the most valuable intelligence agents of the NSF. Like any good spy, one could look at the man and assume nothing. He had a slightly overweight build and a generally unclean appearance, the better to disappear into a crowd of the underclasses that dominated New York. At first glance he looked to be yet another bum, and as such was immediately dismissed by most passers-by.

"I'm just glad the higher ups were smart enough to listen to me for once," Filben replied. "They've been bringing these shipments through here for months. This one alone is enough to last the entire East Coast for a month - those chosen by the government to survive, that is."

Suddenly a new sound could be heard over the waves striking against the piers of the dock. At first the NSF sentries had trouble identifying the commotion until they realized it could only be the sound of a man yelling at the top of his lungs. As it turned out, the lungs of the individual in question had been replaced with a mechanical set capable of yelling quite loudly.

The guards aimed their rifles in the direction of the sound and opened fire the moment the target appeared.

Gunther Hermann raced towards the NSF soldiers like an unstoppable hurricane. Bullets deflected harmlessly off of his dermal armor plating and only managed to make the German angrier. Gunther rushed at the nearest NSF trooper, flinging him through the air into the Hudson River. A second NSF soldier struck Gunther across the face with a powerful punch that succeeded only in crushing the bones of his fist. Gunther responded with a crushing blow to the soldier's chest which broke several ribs and punctured a lung. The NSF soldiers backed off, giving the augmented agent a wide berth and allowing Leo Gold to step forward.

"We don't want to kill you, Agent," Gold spoke. "But we are taking this Ambrosia with us tonight. There is nothing you can do to stop us."

Gunther did not agree and charged the man, again bellowing like a madman. Gold was unarmed, but the men at his side were not. Killian chucked an EMP grenade at the feet of the charging behemoth. The grenade detonated as the German raced over it, sending him collapsing to the ground in an unnatural position, appearing to be trying to charge into the ground. His metal limbs had fused in place.

Gold saw that the last of the barrels of Ambrosia had been loaded onto the speedboats. He turned to the men in trench coats. "Killian, Dekker, get these barrels to those who need it most."

The pair nodded, each mounting a speedboat and racing off towards the city on the horizon.

Now the second phase of the mission could begin. They had to keep UNATCO distracted long enough for the speedboats to reach Battery Park safely. All of the men present had volunteered for this duty. They all knew they were probably making a one-way trip.

The NSF soldiers fanned out to secure the island.


	4. Chapter 4 The Arrival

CHAPTER 4 - THE ARRIVAL

South Dock, Liberty Island, New York City, New York

Paul Denton heard the gunfire erupting across Liberty Island and reacted as any trained soldier might. He turned to investigate the source of the disturbance. He crouched beside the top of the ramp leading off the dock and evaluated the situation from behind cover.

Paul could see dozens of armed men securing the clearing around the Statue of Liberty. Few UNATCO soldiers could be seen from his position, but each lay dead or dying in pools of their own blood. The attackers wore the distinctive armor favored by the NSF and were heavily armed. From his cover he could see the main entrance to the bunker that housed UNATCO Headquarters. There was no sign of organized resistance from that direction.

"Paul, stand down," came a voice over Paul's infolink. An image appeared in the corner of his vision showing the identity of the speaker. Alex Jacobson was UNATCO's Systems Administrator. From the bowels of the subterranean facility he operated the scanning equipment necessary to monitor the infolink system. Through the infolink Alex could tap into the nanites within Paul's head in order to see and hear everything that Paul could. In turn, Alex could communicate directly into Paul's temporal lobe, bypassing his eardrum and sensory neurons. No one but Paul could see or hear Alex as he spoke. "Orders from Manderley are to give the NSF free reign until we can get a handle on the situation. They've taken Gunther Hermann hostage and we don't want to take any chances."

"What about JC? He's due to arrive any minute."

There was a pause before Alex responded, "Your orders are to wait at the South Dock until JC arrives and brief him on the situation. Send him in to rescue Gunther and capture the terrorist leader. Give him the choice of a single weapon: a GEP gun, sniper rifle, or a mini-crossbow."

"So you're telling me the Coalition wants to give JC a major test on his first day?"

"Something like that. I'll dispatch a trooper to your location with the weapons for JC. In the mean time you should be secure where you're at. Manderley is dispatching security bots to secure the perimeter."

Statue of Liberty, Liberty Island, New York

Leo Gold allowed himself to be surprised at how smoothly things had gone so far. They had met with a handful of UNATCO soldiers between the North Dock and their current position at the main entrance to the Statue of Liberty. The UNATCO troops had fought well, but had lost the initiative the moment the NSF had achieved almost total surprise.

The only remaining resistance seemed to be within the Statue itself. UNATCO Headquarters was only a few hundred meters away, no doubt full of heavily armed agents, but word must have gotten out that the NSF had taken a hostage. The forces UNATCO held in reserve within their fortress were playing it safe and waiting to see what the NSF did next.

The lead element of NSF soldiers stood beneath the entrance to the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. They formed a secure perimeter around Leo Gold as he approached a security console beside the large doors that led into the pedestal. The console was right where Harley Filben had told them it would be. UNATCO had established a rudimentary security system throughout the island, but this was no serious threat to the NSF. They employed some of the best hackers on the planet.

Gold flipped open the security console and attached the device given to him by Decker Parkes. Decker had given him a portable hacking tool to allow even the most basic computer user to conquer advanced security systems. He had called the tool an ICE breaker, named for its ability to break through the intrusion countermeasure electronic firewalls prevalent in modern computer systems. The device went to work at once, convincing the security system that it needed to disable its protective firewalls for a system upgrade. The security system was no smarter than any other computer and was used to carrying out such instructions. The system lowered its defenses and allowed itself to be lobotomized and replaced with a system developed by Decker. The Statue's security system now belonged to the NSF.

UNATCO Headquarters, Liberty Island, New York

Deep beneath the surface of the island within UNATCO Headquarters, Systems Administrator Alex Jacobson cocked his head sideways as he noticed his security feed to the surface had suddenly gone dark. He sent a ping through the system which disappeared into the abyss never to return. The system was not responding at all.

"Mr. Manderley, we've lost our feed to the surface," Alex spoke into his comm link. "I can't tell what's going on up there anymore. All I have left are the cameras attached to our local network. The Statue has gone dark."

"What about the Peacebringers?"

Alex froze for a moment. UNATCO had dispatched numerous security bots to the surface to form a perimeter around the Statue and hopefully contain the terrorists until JC Denton could arrive to sort out this mess. Most of the security bots were Page Industries Bravo-3 Peacebringers, bipedal automatons equipped with powerful minigun cannons. Walking turrets with heavy armor, they were popular around the world and had replaced human soldiers in many conflicts. The thought of those same security bots running amok under terrorist control did not bear consideration. Alex quickly checked their status and verified that he still had control over them. However, there had been a single Chiang Security Bot in operation near the pedestal of the Statue tied into the Statue's security network. The Chiang Bots were miniature tanks equipped with assault guns, but were not nearly as versatile as the larger and more powerful Peacebringers. If the Statue's network had been compromised, the Chiang Bot might be in the hands of the NSF.

"We've still got the Peacebringers online and friendly. However, I've lost contact with the Chiang Security Bot tied into the Statue's security network. I can't find it anywhere."

"At least we still have our perimeter," Manderley replied, clearly relieved. "As soon as JC Denton arrives I want you to monitor his every move. This situation on the surface will be his responsibility to handle, and I want you to keep a close eye on how he carries himself."

Statue of Liberty, Liberty Island, New York

Throughout the Statue of Liberty, security cameras and defenses received new instructions to identify anyone not friendly to the NSF as a hostile threat. This included the UNATCO troops within the Statue. They were on guard after receiving word that their island was under siege and that they would not be receiving backup from UNATCO Headquarters, which had buttoned itself up tight. They had taken up defensive positions around the entrance to the lobby beneath the Statue, determined not to go down without a fight. The Statue's lobby was also equipped with advanced automated turrets capable of shredding its targets to pieces. The terrorists would have to be crazy to come this way, but they had to have been crazy to attack this island in the first place. The UNATCO soldiers jumped when they heard the tell-tale alarm from the cameras behind them identifying a potentially hostile target. They scanned the room for threats, and seeing none wondered what was wrong with their security system.

The camera continued to beep in alarm for several seconds before deciding that the hostile targets were not being properly encouraged to leave the area. The security system moved on to its next level of defense and sounded a general alarm. The UNATCO soldiers looked at each other, but none realized what was really happening.

The automated turrets opened fire, their powerful chainguns tearing through the light armor of the UNATCO soldiers. Within seconds it was over and the last remaining UNATCO resistance within the Statue had been slaughtered.

Outside the entrance to the pedestal, Gold could hear the massacre taking place within. Part of him actually felt sorry for the poor bastards, who were woefully unprepared for the electronic ambush. However, that was their misfortune for allying themselves with the corrupt forces he had dedicated his life to defeating.

As the sounds of combat and death faded within, Leo Gold looked up at what remained of the Statue of Liberty. Lady Liberty had once stood almost fifty meters tall, holding a torch to enlighten the world. At the time one could travel up through the statue to stand within the crown atop the head of the Lady to gaze out at the Hudson River. This had allowed a bomber to plant the explosives which had decapitated the Statue and taken the torch down with it.

Gold knew the best way to buy his people the time they needed to escape with the the Ambrosia vaccine was to gain a foothold within the Statue. If they could fortify this position enough to hold off UNATCO they might stand a chance of getting out of here alive. The agent they had taken hostage should help give UNATCO pause before assaulting their position. The mechanical behemoth of an agent had recovered from the disabling effects of the EMP grenade, but not before they had securely tied his arms behind his back with rebar to make a set of handcuffs the man could not break. Two NSF soldiers held rifles to the back of his head at a vulnerable patch of flesh not protected by dermal armor plating.

Gold and his entourage moved into the lobby of the Statue, noting dispassionately the dead bodies scattered throughout. The remains of the torch that had once been held high by Lady Liberty were now prominently displayed in the center of the room. Gold found it appropriate that they should make their stand for liberty surrounded by such reminders of what had once made their country great.

Off to one side of the lobby was a large information desk. Behind this desk was a series of small offices and a break room perfect for their needs. The NSF soldiers escorted Gunther within and deposited him into an office at the rear. They removed his restraints only after checking that the door could be secured and not broken to splinters by the powerful agent. With that task complete, the NSF soldiers began making position improvements, activating a laser tripwire screen that had been designed to keep tourists out of the secure office area. Now it would announce any attempt by their hostage to escape. If he somehow made it out of the secure office and into the lobby he would be greeted by several turrets powerful enough to penetrate his armored skin.

Leo Gold performed a quick inspection and verified that his men had done all they could to secure this area. Leaving a small detachment of soldiers on perimeter guard duty, he directed the rest of his men to secure the Statue. He followed them up the Statue's main staircase to the top of the pedestal. He judged this would be the best place to wait and see if his defenses were up to the challenge of weathering whatever UNATCO had in store for them.

South Dock, Liberty Island, New York City, New York

The police boat glided gently towards the pier, its pilot visibly nervous about being so close to a terrorist attack in progress. The pilot tied off at the dock and turned to face his passenger.

"My orders are to stay here," the pilot spoke, somewhat lamely.

His passenger nodded and disembarked from the vessel. During his final approach he had been surprised to learn that his new employer was under attack by the NSF, a terrorist organization he had been trained to respect as a formidable foe. To attack the heart of UNATCO, however, was an act of lunacy.

After learning of the attack during his voyage, JC Denton had donned a suit of tactical body armor beneath the black trench coat he favored for field operations. As a field agent of UNATCO, he was not held to the same uniform regulations of most UNATCO soldiers. He favored the trench coat as it disguised his body mass and allowed him to conceal weapons. It was better for an opponent to underestimate you at first glance.

Seemingly from nowhere, a voice spoke to him from within through his infolink. A picture accompanied the voice, displayed directly through his retina to his visual cortex as an image only he could see. The name 'Alex Jacobson' appeared beneath the image of a face he did not recognize. "Heads up, JC. Your brother Paul is on his way to meet you at the dock. The NSF is raiding the island, and shots have been fired. I repeat: find Paul. I will monitor your situation from HQ."

JC had not seen his brother in years; not that he minded terribly. Ever since the death of their parents he had been content to focus on his own needs and problems. He had become self-reliant and emotionally independent, never really confronting the event that should have caused the emotional upheaval of his entire world. As such, he had not grown as emotionally attached to his brother as he might have otherwise. Still, it would be good to see a familiar face in this new and strange place. He had not expected to find his brother here. He had heard his brother was overseas on assignment yet again.

Paul Denton approached from the other end of the dock. Normally not one to wear his emotions on his sleeve either, JC could still see that Paul was glad to see him.

"Paul, I thought you were in Hong Kong," JC said in greeting.

"Welcome to the Coalition, JC," Paul responded, "Think I'd miss my brother's first day?"

"Didn't think you'd have a choice. What's going on?"

"The NSF – they hit one of our shipments. A few of them got away, but we trapped the rest in the Statue."

"What are we waiting for? Looks like a textbook assault." JC had performed many similar missions in training and was eager to put his skills to the test.

"The NSF took one of our agents hostage. The bots are holding the perimeter, but my orders are to hold back and send you in alone. I think someone high up wants to see how you handle the situation."

"All I've got with me is a pistol and an electric prod. I don't mind a test, but UNATCO better issue some hardware."

"Remember that we're police," Paul lectured. "Stick with the prod. It will stun your opponents or knock them unconscious. A nonlethal takedown is always the most silent way to eliminate resistance. Just in case, though, Manderley wants you to pick an additional weapon: a sniper rifle, a GEP gun, or a mini-crossbow."

This was an interesting conundrum. JC could have easily lugged all three weapons around with him, but someone wanted to test his abilities tonight. Clearly his choice of weapons was also part of that test. The choice was simple. The GEP gun was a heavy weapon suitable for taking on heavily armored opponents, but not appropriate for a one-man infiltration mission that depended on stealth more than firepower. The sniper rifle could have been useful if his mission had been to eliminate the terrorists from a distance, but that was not his objective. UNATCO was first and foremost a police force, and he would behave accordingly.

"The crossbow," JC replied. "Sometimes you've got to make a silent takedown."

"Good thinking. With these tranquilizer darts, you'll have another nonlethal way to take down an enemy in addition to the prod."

"I get the idea. What's the first move?"

"I'm going to give you a map of the island. If you can get to the north dock, a UNATCO informant will give you a key to the Statue doors. He responds to the code-phrase 'iron and copper.' You could avoid a lot of fighting, though, if you found a back way into the Statue."

"I'll see how it looks onshore," JC responded.

"Your primary objective is the makeshift command center the terrorists installed at the top of the Statue, but don't forget about Agent Hermann. We think he's being held on the ground floor."

"What are my orders when I reach the command center?" JC was well trained in both nonlethal and lethal combat. He had been desensitized to the thought of killing when so ordered, and would not hesitate if his orders were to assassinate the terrorist leader.

"Interrogate the leader," Paul said quickly. "We don't yet know why the terrorists would risk an open assault."

"You just going to stay here?" JC asked, noticing that Paul had not mentioned his participation.

"There's been some activity at sea. I'm going to watch the coast." It sounded like a poor excuse to both of them. JC wondered if there wasn't something deeper behind his orders.

"Why'd they bring you back to New York?" JC asked innocently. Had his brother been pulled from the case, and was he now benched?

"I don't know what they have planned. I messed up an assassination attempt on one of the Triad leaders in Hong Kong."

"UNATCO pulled you out?"

"It's a long story. You better head to the Statue."

"Which Triad was UNATCO targeting?" JC persisted.

"We'll talk about that later. How was your graduation?" Paul deftly changed the subject.

"I want to hear what happened." JC replied, unabated.

"I wish I could have come," Paul continued, determined to avoid his brother's line of questioning. "At the time I could have cared less that Mom and Dad came to mine, but it was a good thing. The U.N. threw a dinner in honor of me, the first nano-augmented agent."

"I didn't know that. Guess I must be old news."

"Dad made a toast. I don't know if you remember his old brown suit..."

"A toast? That doesn't sound like our father."

"It was hard for him in front of the diplomats, but he savored every moment."

"Strange how proud he could be when so much was due to... our augmentations."

"Yes, he was proud. I believe that much. It was nice to have done something for him and Mom. I wish someone could have been there for you." Paul trailed off, realizing he was dangerously close to discussing the attack that had killed their parents later that same night. Paul had never once given any indication to JC that their parents' deaths had been anything but a tragic car accident.

"I'm used to being on my own," JC replied matter-of-factly.

"One can be TOO self-sufficient, I'm coming to believe. I'll keep watch on this side of the island."

With their moment of reverie concluded, JC loaded his newly acquired crossbow with tranquilizer darts and checked the charge on his electric prod. Both weapons were capable of silent non-lethal takedowns. With dozens of well-armed opponents, JC would have to rely on stealth to survive. If necessary, he had his pistol for a lethal back-up weapon, but he knew he would not need it.

JC Denton knew he had been born for this. He did not yet know how accurate he was in that sentiment.


	5. Chapter 5 Counterstrike

CHAPTER 5 – COUNTERSTRIKE

South Docks, Liberty Island, New York City, New York

JC Denton spent several minutes studying the map provided by his brother. Hollywood movies to the contrary, stealth was more about patience and preparation than stalking around in the shadows holding a knife in your teeth. By learning the layout of the island he could better plan a route to get from the South Docks to the North Docks undetected.

The clockwise approach around the Statue would take him past the entrance to UNATCO Headquarters, which the NSF patrols seemed to be giving a wide berth. However, it would also take him past the main entrance to the Statue, where he expected to find the most resistance. The counter-clockwise approach was less direct but would bypass most of the patrols. It was not a difficult decision.

JC headed to his right, taking the counter-clockwise approach around the island. Every hundred meters or so lone NSF soldiers followed predictable patrol patterns. Cover and concealment from these patrols was found behind crates and shipping containers scattered around the island. The island had changed from a tourist attraction to the operational headquarters of UNATCO a year ago, so less attention was kept to general housekeeping. JC silently thanked the inefficiency of the soldiers in charge of keeping the island organized. By rolling from one bit of cover to the next he would be able to circle his way completely around the island without alerting a single guard.

"It all happened an hour ago," Alex spoke over the infolink, providing information to JC as he continued moving towards his objective, "The NSF targeted a shipment of the plague vaccine, Ambrosia. The barge docked and the NSF moved right in on it, offloading the cargo into speedboats. Our undercover man Harley Filben should be somewhere out on the docks now."

As he approached the North Docks JC spotted one of the UNATCO Peacebringer bots walking around the perimeter of the island. It was fortunate for the NSF that the bots were ordered to keep their distance. Had they been unleashed they would have made short work of the terrorists. Of course, then Gunther Hermann's life would have been forfeit, which was not the desired outcome of the mission.

The North Docks were patrolled by a NSF soldier and a man dressed in civilian gang colors. The terrorists couldn't even fight their battles without putting more guns on the streets into the hands of gang members and criminals. JC had no respect for the so-called freedom fighters of the NSF. He viewed them as traitors to his flag, and these gang bangers they paid to do their dirty work were no better than common thugs. JC would have not blinked an eye at the thought of putting a 10mm bullet between the eyes of these two men standing between him and his first objective. However, he would not take that chance since they might be in regular radio contact with their leader. Their absence might blow the mission.

JC continued using the cover of crates and boxes stacked conveniently along his path. The two guards were none the wiser that a potential assassin had passed right under their noses and given them a reprieve to remain among the living.

He detected the lingering aroma of carbon in the air and realized someone had recently detonated high explosives in the area. A quick check over the side of the dock revealed the presence of a sunken barge, possibly scuttled by the NSF attackers. JC decided this was not relevant to his current mission and ignored it. He focused instead on the dock house at the end of the pier, the most likely location to find this informant. As he had suspected, JC found a civilian in the dock house identified by his optical nanites as Harley Filben.

"About time you showed up," Harley Filben said in greeting.

"Iron and copper," JC replied, giving the proper code phrase. "The statue is copper on an iron frame, right?"

"Password's enough pal. Don't think you know something about the Lady I don't. My dad did tours out here."

"I heard that you can get me inside."

"Depends. You get your man out, take back the Statue, whatever, but I know the commander and I don't want to see him get hurt. Here's a picture so you don't make a mistake."

"You can trust me," JC replied, studying the face of the terrorist leader.

"I'll take your word. Here's the key to the front entrance. The commander's not much of a soldier; he'll surrender as soon as he sees you. I need him alive and out on bail because he's my main contact at the NSF. If he's dead, I don't have much of a business."

"UNATCO will probably keep him in custody," JC warned.

"At least he has a chance if he's alive. I warned him, you know. I said right to his face, "Don't take weapons into the Lady. That makes you as bad as UNATCO."

"Don't forget that it was terrorists that C-4'ed the Statue in the first place. UNATCO's here to put the pieces back together."

"Ask me, I think the government did it. They want people to think the NSF are terrorists. My dad used to say, 'If copper can get old and green and need repairs, the same with our liberty.' Funny, and that was before the United Nations even had an army."

JC had nothing more to say to the man, who had taken the conversation down a dangerous avenue. JC did not have a single seditious bone in his body and could not understand how anyone could so distrust their government. After all, they were the elected representatives of a free nation. If they abused their power it could be stripped away from them. The government was not an evil machine seeking to control the lives of its citizens. It consisted of ordinary men and women and it deserved their respect. Rather than be drawn into a political debate with the man, JC turned to leave.

He repeated his maneuvers as before, bypassing the two guards patrolling the North Docks. As he prepared to make his final approach to the main entrance of the Statue, JC stumbled across something not indicated on the map. At the rear of the pedestal on which the Statue sat there were dozens of shipping containers stacked high, reaching up towards the first level of the pedestal. It was possible that he could use these containers to access the upper levels of the Statue and bypass the heavily guarded main entrance all together. JC approached a shipping container and pulled himself up. He was demonstrating one of the most important qualities of a good field agent: the ability to think on one's feet and adjust the plan as unexpected opportunities presented themselves.

JC reached the first level of the pedestal and made his way into the Statue itself. His next objective was now below him on the ground level. JC took the main staircase down, bypassing several cameras no doubt linked to a hostile security network. As he reached the lobby he spotted several automatic turrets arrayed around the room. They took no interest in him, so JC decided they must be linked to the camera system. As long as he stayed out of the line of sight of the cameras he would not be torn to pieces by the turrets. That was good to know, he mused to himself.

Several guards patrolled the lobby and the overlooking walkway. They seemed to have their attention focused on the main entrance – the same entrance JC had planned to use to enter the Statue. That would have been interesting. Off to one side he noted a large information desk and a hallway beyond protected by a laser security grid. One didn't activate a security grid unless there was something behind it worth protecting. Or guarding in this case, he suspected. JC made his way to the hallway.

JC removed a multitool from his belt. The multitool was an electronic gadget capable of altering the current through a circuit. The device was intelligent enough to operate through a dynamic frequency range and so bypass any number of electronic devices. In this case, JC used the multitool to interrupt the circuits of the junction box leading to the laser system. The security grid collapsed, allowing JC to move into the room he suspected held a captured UNATCO agent.

"That's the difference right there. Just take a look at him. They cut off his arm, replaced half of his face."

Two of the NSF soldiers tasked with guarding the captured UNATCO agent watched as he paced back in forth in his makeshift cell. From time to time the agent would mutter something under his breath, sometimes in German, sometimes in English. They could have sworn he had said something about a 'skull gun,' whatever that was.

"Hermann, right? He's a good soldier. Killed two of our men."

"They'd've replaced his whole body if it would've improved performance," the first continued. "If that's how you judge a man – by performance – then eventually it's not about people but upgrades, versions, functionality..."

"All I know is we could use a few mechs for ops like this."

"Soon as we buy into the cult of the machine we're just like them."

"Rhetoric, always more rhetoric," the second said dismissively as he returned to his assigned patrol in the lobby. He failed to notice that the security grid was already disabled when he passed through it.

Gunther Hermann fumed within his prison. He saw the guards watching him through the heavy glass window, talking about him as if he could not hear their words. He was used to being treated differently and took pride in his ability to frighten his enemies with his appearance alone. Standing at six foot eight, few stood tall enough to look him in the eyes, but most would have chosen not to do so anyway. But Gunther was not used to feeling so powerless. That was what angered him now, more than the bigotry spouting from the mouths of his captors. To make matters worse, UNATCO seemed to be hanging him out to dry. Perhaps this was their way of retiring him so they could strip him down for parts to sell at a flea market. After all, with the new nano-augmented agents around, who needed an old bucket of bolts like him?

Gunther had started his career as a flesh-and-blood member of GSG-9, Germany's elite counterterrorism team. Not satisfied with the methods of legitimate counterterrorism work, Hermann had been recruited by a private military contractor which had replaced much of his body with mechanical augmentation. Gunther disappeared off the radar for almost twenty years before resurfacing as a proud member of UNATCO. Perhaps he was now nearing the end of his usefulness as a soldier.

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught Gunther's attention. By the time he had turned to see what had happened he could only see the lone remaining guard standing stark still, his arms held awkwardly out away from his body. Gunther was confused for a moment before he realized the man was not in control of his body. He was receiving a painful shock from an electric prod.

The guard fell to his knees before hitting the ground, revealing the man who had been standing behind him. He was dressed in black from head to toe. A faint blue glow from unnatural eyes could be seen through his sunglasses. At first Gunther thought he was looking at Paul Denton, but then he realized this man lacked Paul's facial hair and was noticeably younger. There was something colder and darker about this man as well. This must be JC Denton, the newest member of their family.

"Agent! Open the door," Gunther ordered.

"Glad you're not hurt, Agent Hermann," JC replied as he opened the makeshift cell door.

"Command should not have left us to be surrounded."

"Risk is part of the job," JC replied. "I think you lucked out this time."

"Agent Navarre and I were ready to go in, but for no reason they said pull back. I do not retreat. Please give me a weapon and move out of the way."

JC considered the request before replying, "As you wish. Take my pistol."

"That will be adequate. I will secure this level. You proceed up the stairs to the command center at the top. You go after the leader while I clean out the lower levels."

Whereas JC had used stealth to approach the cell undetected, Gunther preferred a different modus operandi. Gunther walked into the lobby, making no attempt to hide his presence. He immediately attracted the attention of every guard in the lobby. Without waiting for orders, they opened fire, peppering Gunther's dermal plating with bullets. In a few cases the rounds hit hard enough to dent the armor, infuriating the German.

Gunther let loose several rounds from his newly acquired pistol, taking down several NSF soldiers but mostly missing his targets as he fired indiscriminately around the room. Gunther laughed maniacally as he quickly emptied the pistol. He looked down at the now worthless weapon and threw it at one of his targets, actually hitting the man hard enough to knock him to the ground unconscious.

Gunther moved towards the main entrance that JC had wisely ignored earlier. The doors opened quite easily from within and he raced into the open night air beyond. The remaining NSF soldiers followed him out, desperate to stop their escaping hostage. The sound of gunfire continued outside, but the sound of Gunther's battle cry could still be heard above the fray.

JC Denton had watched the spectacle from the shadows and realized in his own way Gunther had cleared his way to the top of the Statue. There was not a single guard left in the room. The sounds of battle died down outside. JC hoped that meant Gunther had reached the Headquarters building safely. Or perhaps the German had bludgeoned the entire NSF detachment with his bare hands.

"See if the leader will surrender when you reach the command post," Alex chimed in over the infolink. "We'd like to interrogate him."

JC climbed the staircase to its top level, bypassing what little security remained after Gunther's diversion. JC wondered if Gunther had planned it that way, or if it had been serendipitous. Either way, JC reached his next objective without incident.

The terrorist leader certainly didn't look like a soldier. He could have been a regular civilian off the street, dressed casually in a brown trench coat.

"Don't shoot! I surrender!" the man spoke.

"We want you to take this one alive and conscious," Alex spoke through the infolink. "This is Leo Gold, a Colonel of the NSF. Find out what you can about the shipment and then turn him over to one of the troopers."

The sound of renewed gunfire erupted from below. It sounded as if UNATCO had begun its counterstrike. JC turned to his prisoner, "So you think you know better than FEMA what to do with this month's Ambrosia shipment..."

"You're too late," Gold replied. "It's on its way back to the people, and you can't do a damn thing about it."

"Tell me about the shipment and I'll order the troops to pick you up as a prisoner instead of a corpse."

"Ask away. We already won this round."

"Where are you taking it?"

"We're just giving the ordinary people the same chance to survive as the bureaucrats in Washington."

"You'll have to unload in New York because the choppers would spot you at sea," JC judged.

"I think the government made the plague on purpose to get rid of population growth."

"Just answer the question," demanded JC.

"Don't believe me?" Gold continued unabated. "It's all in the numbers. For a hundred years, there's been a conspiracy of plutocrats against ordinary people."

JC bit at the argument, "Do you have a single fact to back that up?"

"Number one: In 1945 corporations paid 50 percent of federal taxes. Now they pay about 5 percent. Number two: In 1900 90 percent of Americans were self-employed; now it's about two percent."

"So?" JC asked, crossing his arms, unimpressed.

"It's called consolidation. Strengthen governments and corporations, weaken individuals. With taxes, this can be done imperceptibly over time."

JC tried to get the interrogation back on track. "I guarantee you that the interrogation staff at UNATCO will not be as forbearing as I am."

"Yeah, the secret police. You're just bullies for a completely illegitimate government in Washington."

"We will locate that shipment one way or another."

"The entire executive branch is hand-picked. Nineteen of the last twenty-three U.S. presidents have been members of the Trilateral Commission. The Trilateral Commission is financed by the Rockefellers and the Rothschilds. Don't tell me –"

"That's a think-tank," JC replied, annoyed at his lack of progress. "Anyone can become a member."

"But not everyone does. That's why they call it the 'secret government.' Do you ever ask what it's for? The surveillance, the police, the shoot-on-sight laws? Is that freedom?"

JC detected a hint of logic behind the terrorist's arguments, but they were tainted by the fact that the man was a paranoid extremist. JC took the words as hysterical rhetoric and nothing more.

A UNATCO trooper emerged from below, smoke still billowing from the barrel of his assault rifle. "The chief finally let us loose," the trooper began. "We were right behind you and cut through them like a hot knife through butter. I'll take it from here."

The trooper secured Leo Gold's wrists with flex cuffs and removed a loaded pistol from a hidden holster beneath the man's trench coat. JC realized Gold might have gotten the jump on him as he had climbed the staircase if that had been his intention.

The trooper led the terrorist leader down the steps. This man would be going away for a very long time.

Battery Park, New York City, New York

Castle Clinton had once been America's original immigration station, even before the construction of Ellis Island. Located in Battery Park at the southern tip of Manhattan Island, it had once been the first destination of people desperately seeking the American dream that had once been a reality. Since then it had served many roles before becoming the tourist attraction it was today. It had been an exhibition hall, a theater, and even an aquarium for a time. Now during the daytime people came to visit the fortress to learn about its history, not realizing that hidden beneath their feet was a stronghold of the National Secessionist Forces. The only visible change to the existing architecture of Castle Clinton had been the addition of a structure connecting the fortress to the riverside. This allowed the NSF to come and go by boat without being noticed.

Battery Park's location provided easy access from Liberty Island, less than two miles away across the Hudson River. The trip by speedboat had taken less than ten minutes. The boats had pulled into the relatively new boat house and waited while a heavy metal lock closed across the entrance behind them. The water level dropped, bringing the boats down to the level of the hidden stronghold. A second lock opened, allowing them to pull forward and dock inside the protection of the fortress.

NSF soldiers wasted no time offloading the barrels of Ambrosia from the speedboats. Decker and Killian exited their watercraft and allowed themselves a moment to catch their breath. Within minutes of fleeing Liberty Island, the NYPD had set up a cordon of patrol boats directly across the path they had traveled. Had they lingered a moment longer they would be in the hands of UNATCO right now.

"Mr. Lebedev, this is Decker," Decker spoke into his radio. Juan Lebedev was at their destination making preparations for their arrival.

"Decker, did you get the vaccine?"

"Yes, sir," Decker replied. "We're offloading it as we speak. Are things ready on your end?"

"We're ready here. I want you to leave a barrel inside the Castle as a contingency just in case something happens while you're in transit."

"But—"

"I don't expect anything to happen while you're in transit, Decker. Don't worry. I've confirmed our arrangements. Your path is clear. Now get moving."

Lebedev ended the communication without another word, leaving Decker and Killian to resume their mission. Decker called to Grimaldi, the ranking NSF commander over the Castle Clinton facility. "Commander Grimaldi, Mr. Lebedev says to leave one barrel here and move the rest into the subways."

Grimaldi nodded. The man was dressed in dirty street clothing, the better to blend in with the local bums who frequented Battery Park. His unkempt appearance was not reflective of a lack of military bearing, however. He turned to his men and commanded them with authority. "UNATCO will be here any minute. Get these crates moving!"

The NSF picked up the pace, hefting three of the four heavy barrels up the stairs through the secret entrance to the rear of Castle Clinton. The rear entrance was hidden behind an innocent looking vending machine which slid out of the way. Grimaldi opened the secret door and stepped out first, knowing he would not draw as much attention as several dozen heavily armed NSF soldiers carrying their mysterious cargo. He looked around and seeing that the coast was clear he ordered his men to move out.

Decker and Killian followed the procession at the rear. As they left, Decker activated the Castle's security system. Decker had personally supervised the installation of the Castle's security system. It hadn't been his finest work, but hopefully it would give the NSF who stayed behind a fighting chance when UNATCO came knocking. It was impossible to think that UNATCO would remain blind to their presence for long once they realized the Ambrosia had come this way. Like the brave men who had stayed behind on Liberty Island, the NSF soldiers who stayed here were laying their lives on the line in order to save millions once the vaccine reached the people.

The formation's destination was the Battery Park Metro Station. The Metropolitan Transportation Authority had run the New York subway system for decades, one of the few constants in a city declining into oblivion. New York City was divided into isolated districts in an attempt to control the ever-growing crime wave that had gripped the metropolis. There were few remaining ways to get from place to place on the surface. Giant walls divided the districts, and travel through these walls was heavily controlled by the police. One of the few remaining ways to get between districts relatively unnoticed was through the subway system. Several of the pre-millennial subway lines and stations had been shut down due to security concerns, but if one knew the system well enough it was still possible to get anywhere in the city undetected.

Battery Park's Metro Station was surrounded by a shanty town of bums and vagabonds. They lived in temporary structures built out of corrugated metal and slept on beds of cardboard mats. Most of the locals huddled around fire barrels for warmth and company. The NSF had nothing to fear amongst these people, all of whom feared and distrusted their government as much as the revolutionaries. Most of these unfortunate souls knew the NSF operated in the area but kept the secret to themselves. Just because they had been born as part of the ever widening lower class did not make them fools. The NSF moved through the shanty town with their cargo, receiving a few nods of acknowledgement from the local denizens. A few of the more alert locals in the town noticed the cargo and wondered what could be so valuable as to merit this kind of protection.

As Decker and Killian followed the procession towards the steps of the metro station, one homeless man approached from behind and spoke, "It looks to me like the NSF has grown up, praise Heaven. What is our people's militia doing this fine evening?"

Decker and Killian exchanged a glance, and Killian fielded the question, "Can you keep a secret, old timer?"

"I fought in the Northwest War alongside your predecessors, son. Didn't have uniforms back then, just a shotgun and all the shells you could carry. I might not wear the uniform today, but the fight lives on in my heart, praise the Lord."

"Good," Killian replied. "Then I don't mind telling you that what we have is a cure for the Gray Death. We're taking it to be refined so we can give it to the people who need it most."

The old veteran looked as if he might cry, his face beaming with pride. "You truly are doing the Lord's work, son. May He watch over you tonight."

For the first time, Decker truly appreciated the importance of their cause. Up until now, it had simply been a game to him – a way to rebel against the system. Now he finally saw firsthand why they fought. It wasn't just about hacking computers and security systems and stealing from the powers that be to embarrass their government. No, it was about helping people like this. These men and women had been forgotten by their government, stepped on and abused their whole lives. If the NSF succeeded in overthrowing the government they could get to work fixing things, restoring the hope of a good life for all people, not just the wealthy minority. Decker knew now more than ever that their cause was just.

Decker and Killian turned and started down the steps of the station. They both sensed something was wrong at the same moment. The procession had halted and dropped the barrels of Ambrosia to the ground. Everyone had their weapons out, pointing at an unseen threat. Decker was caught completely off guard, but Killian followed his instincts and retrieved his own weapon. Killian stepped in front of Decker, scanning the station with his assault rifle for whatever had spooked their comrades. It didn't take long to see what had gone wrong.

To one side of the subway station, three civilians huddled in a corner. Commander Grimaldi stood near them, trying to speak calmly, but the three civilians were petrified by fear. Killian approached Grimaldi and spoke.

"Commander, I thought this subway station was supposed to be cleared hours ago."

"It was, damn it!" Grimaldi exclaimed through gritted teeth. "These people must have just gotten off the train from Hell's Kitchen."

"They've seen too much," Killian warned. "We can't let them leave. They'll tell UNATCO which way we went and blow the mission."

Grimaldi knew Killian was right.

"Decker," Grimaldi said, turning to the hacker. "There's been a change of plans. Set up the defenses like we discussed. We're going to have three unexpected guests staying with us for the duration."

Decker nodded, uncomfortable with the sudden turn of events. He distinctly remembered Lebedev's instructions about avoiding collateral damage. Their defenses involved a system of laser trip wires attached to several crates of high explosives. It was hoped that UNATCO would think twice before assaulting the position, buying them the time they needed to move the Ambrosia through the subway system. However, this had turned into a hostage situation. Decker didn't like the thought of his defenses taking the lives of three innocent civilians, but he silenced the voices of doubt in his mind.

These three civilians were simply caught in the crossfire of a war. If they had to die to ensure the survival of millions that would be justified, wouldn't it?

Decker didn't have the answer to that question, but went to work nonetheless.


	6. Chapter 6 Welcome to the Family

CHAPTER 6 – WELCOME TO THE FAMILY

UNATCO Headquarters, Liberty Island, New York City, New York

Gunther Hermann raced across the clearing towards the gated entrance to UNATCO Headquarters. He had taken down several NSF terrorists during his escape but he knew their numbers might be enough to overwhelm him now, even with his augmented strength. Worse, they might have another EMP grenade to use to recapture him.

Gunther reached the main gate and turned to see the NSF holding back. Gunther saw why, as several UNATCO soldiers had taken up positions at the gate, covering him as he entered the relative safety of the Headquarters compound. One of the soldiers, Tech Sergeant Kaplan, radioed in an update, "HQ, this is Kaplan. Agent Hermann is secure. I say again, Hermann is secure. What are your orders?"

The voice of Joseph Manderley responded, "The lockdown is lifted. You have a green light. Get me back my island, Sergeant."

The UNATCO soldiers opened fire on the NSF terrorists who had a moment before been chasing Gunther. Now those not felled by the initial volley of fire turned to flee back towards the safety of the Statue. They wouldn't make it.

As the survivors raced back across the clearing, a mechanical voice rang out behind them, "Target acquired."

The terrorists whirled to see who had spoken only to find themselves staring down the barrel of a minigun mounted beneath a Bravo-3 Peacebringer security bot as it raced towards them from the perimeter.

"Target locked," the bot spoke dispassionately as it opened fire, tearing its targets apart.

The bunker entrance to UNATCO Headquarters opened wide and dozens of UNATCO soldiers spilled out to rush towards the Statue. They had lost a lot of friends tonight and each had a score to settle with the NSF.

The remaining NSF troops within the Statue rushed to the nearest window or balcony to find the source of the commotion below. Their reaction was the same in every case: a muttered or shouted curse followed by the raising of a weapon to fire on the advancing bots and soldiers below. Most of their fire was directed at the Peacebringer bots, though their heavy armor easily deflected the small caliber rounds. UNATCO troopers approached behind the Peacebringers, dashing between cover and laying down cover fire for each other. The advancing troops leap-frogged to the entrance to the Statue and found the Chiang Security Bot that had been hacked by the NSF. The bot mindlessly patrolled back and forth near the entrance to the Statue, ignorant of the battle taking place around it. An EMP grenade quickly disabled the bot, allowing a UNATCO trooper to approach the security console to disable the automated turrets and cameras within. With the last remaining serious threat disabled, the UNATCO soldiers stormed through the entrance to the Statue.

The NSF within were spread far too thin to survive the emotionally charged UNATCO assault. It was over in a matter of minutes. The only terrorist left alive was Leo Gold, who was being taken to Headquarters for further interrogation. Before the end he would probably wish he had been killed with the rest.

Gunther Hermann watched the raid from the safety of the Headquarters compound. Part of him wanted nothing more than to pick up a rifle and join the assault. However, he could already tell the situation was well in hand without his assistance. Again he felt as if he were no longer needed here. Gunther headed down into UNATCO Headquarters. His time would be better spent down in the break room drowning his sorrows with an orange soda.

JC Denton emerged from the main entrance of the Statue onto the aftermath of a battlefield. He had been desensitized to the sights and smells of combat years ago, but this was his first true experience with death on such a large scale. He took no pleasure in it, but knew it had been necessary. He had played his part in the bloodbath, releasing Agent Hermann and securing the terrorist leader and thus paving the way for the UNATCO soldiers to strike back. He took pride in the fact that he had made it through the battle without getting his hands dirty personally. With a bit of training anyone could fire an assault rifle at a target. However, it took skill and finesse to accomplish an objective without the enemy even knowing you had been there.

Paul Denton was waiting for JC at the main entrance to UNATCO Headquarters.

"We've got the island secured," Paul spoke. "How did things look in the Statue?"

"The leader surrendered. So they were after Ambrosia..."

"A month's supply for the East Coast," Paul confirmed. "We think they've taken it back to the city."

"I didn't know UNATCO handled the Ambrosia distribution," JC commented.

"Manderley will brief us shortly. UNATCO makes sure the limited supply of vaccine gets to government agencies and key industries."

"It's good to finally see some action," JC admitted.

"Just keep a level head. You're doing well so far. Now get inside. I'll meet you in Manderley's office, level two."

JC headed down the ramp and through the entrance to the subterranean facility UNATCO had constructed deep beneath Liberty Island. JC Denton nodded to the Private manning the security desk as he walked down the hallway towards the lower levels. Cameras recorded his every movement as JC passed through a second security checkpoint, this time verifying his identity with a retinal scanner.

JC had studied a blueprint of the facility before traveling to the island and used his photographic memory to recall the image. UNATCO had built their facility several layers deep, each level constructed of thick reinforced concrete. UNATCO had attempted to add creature comforts for the benefit of the soldiers and civilians who worked here, but the true function of the building was readily apparent. The facility was designed to survive any sort of attack a terrorist might throw at it. The facility even appeared to be hardened against a nuclear attack, but such information had been redacted from the document JC had studied.

The first sublevel housed offices for junior UNATCO field personnel. JC passed by these offices and traveled down a flight of steps to the second sublevel. Drawing on his perfect recall of the blueprint he remembered that Joseph Manderley's office was located at the center of this level.

On his way to meet with Manderley, JC passed through the office of the Director's executive assistant, Janice Reed. She positively beamed at him as he walked in.

"Good work out there, Mr. Denton. Mr. Manderley said you handled yourself nicely. Welcome to UNATCO HQ. Our little family keeps getting bigger..."

"Is Mr. Manderley available?" JC asked.

"Yes, go right in," Janice replied.

JC Denton nodded and entered Manderley's office. JC's first impression of Joseph Manderley wasn't a positive one. Manderley was well dressed in an expensive three-piece suit that was more appropriate for the business world than the counter-terrorism world. JC had avoided getting his hands dirty tonight using intelligence and stealth. Manderley looked to be the type who avoided getting his hands dirty by hiding behind a desk. He was composing a message at his computer console and hadn't noticed JC's arrival.

JC stepped towards the desk and spoke. "Reporting for duty, sir."

Manderley looked up and quickly minimized the screen he had been working on. "The man himself," Manderley spoke, quickly recovering his composure. "Splendid. Do accept my apologies about the situation topside."

JC noticed that Manderley gave no acknowledgement that the entire situation had been manipulated to act as a test of his abilities. He decided not to press the issue. "A refreshing change from the academy, sir."

"Don't despise training, my boy. Even you would be worthless without the shaping touch of drills and studies."

"So the NSF took a shipment of the Ambrosia vaccine?" JC asked. "Give me a chopper and a pilot and I'll handle it."

"I'm sure you could!" Manderley chuckled good-naturedly. "Yes indeed! But we're having your brother head up the recovery team. You'll work with Agent Anna Navarre. Why don't we meet when you've seen Jaime Reyes on level three for a medical checkup and received your equipment from Sam Carter? You'll be briefed at that time."

"Yes, sir," JC replied, clearly dismissed. He turned and left the office.

Alex Jacobson chimed in over the infolink, "Your partner for the next assignment, Anna Navarre, is in the break room to the east. Maybe you should introduce yourself."

JC weighed this against his instructions to report downstairs and decided he could afford to socialize a bit. He wanted to make a good first impression with his new partner after all. Perhaps comparing notes with the agent would allow their first mission to go more smoothly.

JC passed through a conference room that had been used to draw up the assault plans used to retake the Statue of Liberty. Beyond the conference room was a media room displaying a twenty-four hour news network. Surprisingly, the media was not yet reporting on the terrorist attack on the surface. Beyond the media room was a small kitchen where JC found Gunther Hermann talking with a mechanically augmented woman that had to be Anna Navarre. Navarra was dressed in a tactical uniform that didn't make any attempt to hide her true nature as an augmented killing machine. Her arms and legs had been completely replaced with mechanical counterparts. One of her eyes had been surgically replaced with a red eyepiece that must have given her some fantastic abilities in order to justify the butchering of a face that under better circumstances might have been considered attractive.

"My new partner, JC Denton," Navarre said as she appraised him with both her human eye and her red eyepiece. JC wondered which device told her more. "Don't tell me you're going to wear those sunglasses during a night operation."

"My vision is augmented," JC replied, matter-of-factly.

"I do not expect you to perform as well as Agent Hermann, but the mission will require us to do more than frighten the NSF with our baggy coats that make us look bigger than we really are."

"I am prepared to perform my duties," JC said, not giving her the emotional rise she had been hoping for.

"He will not be the equivalent of his brother," Gunther advised. "I have seen that he knows the procedure of a good offensive."

JC wasn't sure how to react to this praise, as it seemed Gunther's idea of a good offensive was to go in guns blazing. Nonetheless, he took the compliment in stride.

"Let us hope you are right," Anna observed, with another measuring glance at her new partner.

"I won't let you down, Agent," JC promised.

North Docks, Liberty Island, New York City, New York

The NYPD arrived on Liberty Island en masse and immediately went to work cordoning off the area around the Statue. Their army of crime scene investigators began combing over the carnage left behind by UNATCO's assault. The investigation would go on for some time, but Paul Denton had no doubt UNATCO would come out smelling like roses. The UNATCO spin doctors would already be working on the story. By the time it was leaked to the media they would find a way to build even more opposition to the NSF, proclaiming the danger the organization posed to all Americans. A second terrorist attack on the same landmark in as many years provided plenty of ammunition for the propaganda warriors.

As Paul approached the North Docks he saw that the NYPD had already stretched crime scene tape across the entrance. He flashed his UNATCO identification to the officers guarding the entrance. The officers nodded and lifted the tape for him to pass beneath.

Harley Filben hadn't left his post at the dock house on the pier. He waited patiently for someone to remember he needed a ride back to the city.

"Harley, I need some information," Paul began.

"And I need a lift," Harley replied. "I wondered when you'd come find me, Paul."

"I need everything you know about the NSF Headquarters building in New York City."

"Whoa. You know I like to play both sides against the other, but you're talking about a major target here. If you take out their headquarters building the NSF is toast in this city and I'm out of a job."

Paul placed a device on the table that interfered with his infolink signal. Their privacy guaranteed, Paul could now explain how he would use the information. In so doing he gave the spy an even more valuable nugget of information.

Harley gave Paul the information he needed.

UNATCO Headquarters, Liberty Island, New York City, New York

Sublevel three housed the remainder of UNATCO's staff. UNATCO was equipped with a state of the art medical center and a well-equipped armory to support its field operations in the area. A secure detention center would house the captured Leo Gold until his transfer to a more secure facility. Also on this level were the offices of the Systems Administrator, Alex Jacobson, and the offices of Anna Navarre and Gunther Hermann. JC remembered seeing something about a fourth sublevel hidden somewhere below level three, but that information had been redacted from his blueprint. He supposed it was reasonable that organizations such as UNATCO had to compartmentalize information just as much as any other bureaucracy. If JC needed to know about whatever clandestine activities might be taking place on sublevel four he was sure he would be briefed in when the time was right. Over time JC hoped to be trusted with such secrets.

JC entered the medical center to search for Jaime Reyes. JC had first met Dr. Reyes while he was in training at the UNATCO Academy. Jaime had been the chief physician at the Academy at the time. As a nano-augmented agent, JC Denton had warranted Jaime's personal attention during the preparation for and adjustment to the augmentation process. Jaime had recently been reassigned as chief physician at UNATCO HQ. Now he was responsible for the medical needs of UNATCO soldiers throughout the city. He was given a well-trained staff of doctors and medbots to handle most of UNATCO's routine medical needs, but from time to time he planned to take it upon himself to venture into the field himself to keep his skills fresh. Jaime wondered about the timing of his transfer, so soon after JC's graduation and assignment to the same facility. Perhaps they were trying to keep to a minimum the number of people who knew the true potential of these nano-augmented agents. After all, in more ways than one Jaime knew JC better than he knew himself.

"Hey, JC," Jaime greeted JC as he entered his office.

"You look like the real thing. They actually let you operate on people?" JC chided.

"Just fixed Gunther's knee, in fact. A sticky actuator. So far I feel more like a mechanic than a doctor."

"I'm impressed."

"They actually let you point a gun at people?" Jaime replied in turn.

"We'll have to catch up later. I've got to leave on assignment right away. Could you send Manderley whatever it is he wants?"

"No problem. Listen, JC – about your augmentations. You know they're preparing to roll out the technology worldwide, right?"

"As long as I don't turn green and grow a pair of antennas, as I understand it," JC agreed.

"Yeah, well, the design's pretty modular, which means you'll soon have access to upgrades from standard 'augmentation canisters.'"

"Great. Have anything for me?"

"We were supposed to get a whole shipment of canisters on the barge carrying the Ambrosia vaccine," Jaime replied. "Our troops only recovered one of them."

Jaime produced a clear cylindrical container containing a luminescent blue substance. The canister was full of microscopic ROM modules created to upgrade the functionality of the microscopic nanites coursing through his body. With such upgrades JC would be capable of performing feats otherwise impossible for a regular human. JC caught himself staring at the canister, both for its beauty and the promise of what it contained within.

Jaime handed the augmentation canister to JC, who cradled it like a newborn child. "Take it over to one of the medbots for installation," he instructed.

JC did as he was told, depositing the canister into a receptacle on the side of one of the medbots traveling around the medical center. The medbot transferred the contents of the canister into a hypodermic needle which pricked JC on the side of his leg. JC had expected the process to be painful, but was pleasantly surprised at the sensations rushing through his body. Waves of soothing warmth flowed from the point of the injection, radiating outwards. He felt his heart momentarily skip a beat as he tried to recover his composure.

JC cleared his throat and asked, "What did that just do?"

"Let me see," Jaime replied, reading for the first time the label on the side of the now-empty canister ejected by the medbot. "It looks like you've just received the microfibal muscle upgrade. Your muscle strength has been upgraded with ionic polymeric gel that will allow you to push and lift extraordinarily heavy objects."

"So you're telling me I could pick you up if I had to?" JC asked in his usual deadpan.

"You old kidder," Jaime replied good-naturedly.

"It's about time they implemented some of this stuff," observed JC. "One more thing before I go, since you've been briefed on my augmentations. What can you tell me about the infolink?"

"Let's see," Jaime replied, gathering his thoughts. "Microreceiver exostructure in the sulci, mechano-carbon threads on the axons... for queuing, you know, packet routing... Anything particularly interest you?"

"Is there a way to turn it off?" JC asked bluntly.

"The infolink?"

"Yeah, or is someone at UNATCO tuned in twenty-four hours?"

"This might sound a little funny, JC, but I'm not permitted to answer that question."

"Your clearance is higher than mine?"

"Regarding your systems, yes," Jaime said a bit defensively. "I _am_ your physician."

"No big deal," JC replied, backing off. "I was just curious."

"I wouldn't keep Manderley waiting if I were you," Jaime observed, ending the conversation.

JC felt the beginnings of doubt creep into his mind. He didn't like the thought of someone monitoring his every move twenty-four hours a day. Wasn't he allowed some time to himself? Would they be watching every time he went to the bathroom or listening at night in case he divulged a secret while he talked in his sleep? JC might not be able to get the answers he wanted from Jaime, but he thought he might know someone who could help him.

JC left the medical center and walked across the hall to the Systems Administrator's office. His infolink activated as he approached the door. "You're getting warm," spoke Alex. JC stepped into the office, prompting another infolink comment, "You're red hot. Looks like you found me."

Alex Jacobson's office was large yet cluttered with gadgets and computer technology both old and new. Posters of various hit movies adorned the walls not already covered with system monitors and fiber optic cables. A traditional computer console sat in one corner, while Alex Jacobson sat behind a much larger and more impressive machine. This machine was the approximate size and shape of an ancient church pipe organ. In place of a musical keyboard, the device had a series of complex controls. In place of wind pipes the device had fiber optic data conduits. The bandwidth required by this machine must have been massive to require so many large data streams. Alex looked up and noticed JC admiring his machine and beamed with pride, as if he had been admiring his own child. Alex fit the stereotype of a computer junkie. JC judged that his pale skin hadn't seen real daylight in years. JC noticed that as Alex glanced at him over his thick glasses he was only half-focused on him. JC saw why when Alex momentarily turned back to his machine, revealing the occipital jack at the back of his skull. Alex was tapped directly into his machine which in turn, he suspected, meant he was directly tapped into JC's brain. It must have been disconcerting to look through someone else's eyes at yourself.

"Like leading a mouse to cheese," Alex observed.

"This thing is starting to give me a headache," JC admitted. Perhaps it was his proximity to the receiving equipment.

"Don't worry," Alex replied. "We shut it down when you go off-duty."

With that, JC had a partial answer to his question without even asking. The infolink could be shut off from the receiving end. That was good to know. He wondered if there was a way to shut it off at the source, but realized he did not know the man well enough to ask so dangerous a question.

"I guess I'll get used to it," JC said instead.

"I'm Alex Jacobson, communications engineer."

"I suppose you already know who I am," JC replied.

"Getting there. You're certainly quicker on the up-take than your brother Paul ever was."

"Thanks," JC replied, taking the compliment for what it was.

"Don't worry. I'll be watching your back."

JC wasn't sure whether or not to find that comforting. It represented a tremendous invasion of his privacy. However, if he ever got into trouble someone at UNATCO HQ would know the moment it happened. It was possible that Alex might even see through his own eyes something he overlooked.

His next destination was the Armory to receive his standard-issue equipment from Sam Carter.

JC had never met Carter, but knew him instead by reputation. Years ago Carter had been a General in the United States Army. He had led his men through many hard-fought battles against the NSF over the years. His anti-insurgency campaign at Merced, California had been so successful that it was now taught as military doctrine. JC had learned much about the Merced Operation during his studies at UNATCO Academy. In retaliation for his many victories, the NSF had targeted his family, killing his wife and children by planting a bomb at his home.

JC entered the Armory and unsure of the protocol for reporting to a retired flag officer he came to the position of attention.

"At ease, Agent Denton," Carter spoke, slightly amused at the rookie.

"General Carter, I read about the Merced Operation in school. This is a great honor."

"I'm not a General anymore. Just call me Carter."

"I can't believe what the NSF did to your family."

"Enough of that, soldier," Carter commanded. "We each have our troubles. I lost my children, but you've had to grow up without your parents. Which requires more courage? I don't think it matters."

"My parents died in a car accident," JC observed. "That's different."

"I said that's enough. You have your own op and time is short. How 'bout I issue your stealth pistol?"

The 10mm stealth pistol was the signature firearm of a UNATCO field agent. While not as powerful as an assault rifle or automatic shotgun, the stealth pistol was perfect for a covert insertion. It featured an integral silencer and a large clip capacity, making it the perfect choice for wet work at close range. It could be upgraded with a laser sight or optical scope to add to its combat effectiveness. JC took the offered weapon and holster and clipped the weapon to his belt.

"Thank you, sir," JC responded.

"So, let's see... A stealth pistol, and... What else you think you'll need?"

"Can you spare a nanotech tech-tool?" JC decided he needed a new multitool to replace the unit spent during his mission.

"A man who uses his head – I like that," Carter observed. Had JC just passed another test? "Now move out. Manderley's waiting."

Paul Denton stood in Manderley's office, filling the Director in on what he had learned from his investigation.

"I spoke with Harley Filben," Paul began. "He says the terrorists loaded the Ambrosia onto speedboats headed for Battery Park."

Manderley nodded, maintaining his poker face. Paul couldn't tell if he already knew this or not.

"Filben said they were going to take the Ambrosia through the subway system to Hell's Kitchen to hide it at their headquarters in the warehouse district. Their HQ is heavily guarded and protected by a complex security system with cameras and booby traps. The only way into the warehouse where they have the Ambrosia is to disable that security system. To do that we'll have to take out their power generators."

"That will be JC's job," Manderley replied, noticing that JC Denton had just entered the room.

"What's that?" JC asked, entering the conversation.

"The power station," Paul explained. "The NSF have the Ambrosia in a warehouse protected by cameras and booby traps. We want to power down the whole system."

"We're talking one illicit generating plant protected by weak groups of NSF," Manderley continued, intentionally downplaying Paul's information. "Knock out that plant, and Paul's team can walk right into the warehouse."

"Just tell me where it is," JC replied with confidence.

"The NSF are openly resisting our deployed forces, gradually falling back," Paul advised. "You'll have to deal with them first."

"And you be ready, Paul," Manderley ordered. "When the power drops, go in and go in hard."

"I'll use my discretion," Paul replied.

"Go in like the U.S. Marshals," insisted Manderley. "We lose the vaccine, I'm sending your butt to the Mayor to explain why he and his three daughters won't get their pills this month."

"Yes, sir," Paul complied, turning to face JC. "Let's not waste any time, JC. Get down to the dock. A boat is waiting to take you and your partner Anna Navarre ashore."

JC Denton returned to the South Docks where he had arrived earlier that evening. Anna Navarre waited there impatiently. The two boarded the police boat which headed northeast towards Battery Park as they followed the trail of bread crumbs left behind by the terrorists.


	7. Chapter 7 Battery Park

CHAPTER 7 – BATTERY PARK

Battery Park, New York City, New York

In recent years Battery Park had become a refuge for a small community of unemployed and homeless vagrants. JC Denton failed to understand how one could go through life content with such an existence. America was the land of opportunity after all. All one had to do to succeed in life was to set goals and apply oneself to overcoming whatever obstacles stood in the way. For whatever reason, these street bums huddling around fire barrels for warmth at what had once been an attractive city landmark had been unable to grasp that concept. Many appeared to be sick with the Gray Death plague, no doubt infected due to their poor hygiene. Surely these people were capable of so much more if they had only worked harder. The utter hypocrisy of that sentiment did not occur to JC, who took for granted his subsidized education and nanotechnological augmentations.

JC Denton and his partner Anna Navarre dismounted the patrol boat at the docks of Battery Park. They would never know that at that moment they were of the same mind as they surveyed the population of vagabonds throughout the park. In Anna's case she felt that these people could have achieved so much more if they had only been willing to sacrifice a bit of their humanity to better themselves through mechanical augmentation. But such people as these prided themselves on their humanity, for all the good it did them now. Like JC, Anna did not understand why any would choose to remain in such squalor.

Yet for their mutually casual dismissal of the people squatting in the park, both too saw the potential threat posed by this environment. The NSF, with its revolutionary bent, had struck a chord amongst the poor underclasses of America. Amongst such people they could seek sanctuary and safety. Any one of the vagrants could be an NSF informant, or worse an NSF assassin poised to strike the moment the UNATCO agents dropped their guard. Neither would do so of course.

Out of the corner of his eye JC saw Anna pause as her cochlear implant relayed information to her. She went through the motions of pressing her finger to her ear, although the implant was subdermal and calibrated to cancel out background noise.

Anna turned to her partner and spoke, "All right, let's go. The terrorists are in a fighting retreat; a few have barricaded themselves inside Castle Clinton. Others have taken hostages in the subway station."

"Lead the way," JC replied.

"Our orders are to locate a barrel of Ambrosia they are hiding inside Castle Clinton – I will give you a schematic of the barrel. But first we will exterminate the NSF terrorists."

"Exterminate?" JC asked dubiously.

"A precious opportunity we cannot neglect," Anna replied, a rueful gleam in her one natural eye.

"What about the rest of the shipment?" JC asked, recalling his briefing.

"That is your brother's assignment. You will take the subway to meet him in Hell's Kitchen, but first we should deal with Castle Clinton."

"Are we going in the front, or is there another way?"

"A secondary entrance would be useful, but I am aware of no such thing. You have your orders."

Without another word the pair set off towards the Castle. Along the way they scanned the faces of the individuals crowded within the park. Most of them quickly averted their glances to avoid attracting the attention of the obviously augmented female and her partner. Such was the expected response. A few eyes lingered longer, sizing up the interlopers in their midst. These looks were returned by the agents. In Anna's case, her optical implant allowed her to scan them for weapons without the need of a physical search. JC followed his training and looked for unnatural bulges in the common places to stash a firearm. None of these people were important enough to have earned an exception to the government's strict gun control regulations.

The agents reached the front entrance to Castle Clinton without incident. UNATCO troopers had set up a temporary barricade to prevent the terrorists from escaping. They had been ordered to hold back until the agents arrived to take charge of the situation. Anna scanned the building and detected the outlines of several armed individuals moving about, clearly agitated. There were several dozen targets within, a number she could have handled on her own. However, she was eager to see how this new agent performed under pressure. He had accomplished his objectives on Liberty Island without firing a shot. Was that due to his skill or was it cowardice in the face of danger?

Anna turned to her partner, "I will hold the entrance while you look for another way in. Flush out the terrorists and I will pick up the stragglers that manage to make it this far."

JC nodded and began making his reconnaissance of the fortress. Castle Clinton had been designed in an era before flight and modern weaponry. This place would have been capable of holding its own against an invading army in its prime. Now the advent of helicopters and explosives would have made an assault on the fortress child's play. However, such an assault might damage or destroy the precious Ambrosia vaccine suspected to be held within. That eventuality was an unacceptable risk. Instead, JC would attempt to infiltrate the stronghold as he had done at Liberty Island.

He knew that most of these fortresses had been designed with a hidden bolt hole. In the event of a prolonged siege or if the fort was overrun by enemy forces the defenders would have a hidden escape route to deliver them to safety, hopefully beyond enemy lines. Military doctrine had evolved much over the years, but even a modern terrorist would see the logic of such an escape route. JC checked the thick walls of the fortress for such a bolt hole. If it could be used for a covert escape it could also be used for a covert entrance.

As JC circled the castle he stumbled across yet another bum wandering the park aimlessly. "Don't let me get in your way, Officer. You guys are doing great. About time the cops cleaned up this park."

The bum's overly cooperative attitude raised red flags in JC's mind, but he did not see the man as a threat. JC would never realize he had just met an NSF commander named Grimaldi, who even now was sending a warning signal to his people.

JC completed a circuit around the castle without seeing any indications of a hidden entrance. He was about to return to the main entrance to report his failure to Anna when he saw something he had missed the first time. On the docks near where they had arrived JC spotted a small boy. The boy was starving and clearly had been for some time. Bones protruded from unnatural places and his stomach appeared to be distended. Without some assistance this boy had only days to live. JC did not find himself overly troubled by this fact. After all, there were many starving people in the world and he did not have the means to save them all. However, in this case the boy was clearly incapable of moving too far from his current perch. Perhaps he had seen something useful and would be willing to trade information for food.

JC approached the boy, who looked up in surprise. He was probably used to people looking right through him.

"I'm starving," the boy croaked in a whisper. "Do you have anything to eat?"

JC pulled out a candy bar from his field ration. "All I have is a candy bar," JC replied, knowing this would be more than enough to stave off starvation for a few more days.

"It don't matter. I just need something in my stomach so I can fall asleep."

"Here you go," JC said as he handed over the candy bar. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"I sleep out on the dock where they unload the speedboats."

"Speedboats? Is that how the NSF get their supplies?" Now they were getting somewhere.

"I don't know. They're always coming in and out of the tunnel behind the soda machine."

"Interesting," JC mused.

"I spy on them from the crates. The code is nine one eight three."

"Clever boy," JC appraised.

"Thanks for the snack, mister."

"It's the least I could do," JC replied as he left the boy to enjoy his reward.

JC spotted the nefarious soda machine just a few feet from the place he stood. JC gave the machine a thorough inspection, going so far as to deposit ten credits to retrieve an orange soda. For some reason when he pressed the button for orange soda the machine instead gave him lemon-lime, but beyond that there was nothing suspicious about the machine. However, he noticed the brickwork behind the machine was much newer than the rest of the wall. There were no visible hinges or tracks that he could discern. However, an electrical junction box to one side of the machine swung open to reveal a keypad which most definitely did not belong there.

JC entered the combination, causing the vending machine to slide sideways to reveal the hidden entrance to Castle Clinton. Immediately behind the entrance was a hidden dock complete with a massive lock system to allow a boat to descend to a level below ground. JC considered attempting to breach the fortress that way but decided he did not have the lung capacity to submerge long enough to pry open the heavy doors. Besides, to do so would cause water to rush in and flood the lower levels. It would be an interesting way of flushing the terrorists into Anna's ambush, but it also might destroy the Ambrosia vaccine in the process.

A staircase descended into the bowels of the fortress. As JC descended the stairs he felt himself moving forward through time from the rough stone construction of the ancient Castle Clinton into more recent prefabricated steel construction. Even the floor was made of steel paneling, which would pose a problem if he intended to move throughout the facility undetected. His footsteps echoed painfully loudly through the steel hallways even while stepping gingerly on the toes of his rubber-soled boots. The NSF would hear him coming if he wasn't careful.

As JC crept down the halls he noticed the presence of a rudimentary security system. Like in the Statue, several cameras panned back and forth across likely avenues of approach. They would be linked to an alarm system and possibly to automated turrets as before. By revealing his location JC would bring dozens of adversaries running to investigate. As JC waited behind a corner for one such camera to pan away he noticed a new opportunity. Beneath the camera was a metal grate leading to a ventilation shaft. If he could get into the walls of this place he would be able to move right under the noses of the terrorists. He might even be able to complete his mission and identify the Ambrosia barrel without them ever knowing he had been there.

When the camera had focused its attention down the opposite hallway JC made his move. He dashed beneath the camera and gently pried open the metal grate. Thankfully the grate opened silently, allowing JC to enter the ventilation shaft without attracting any unwanted attention. He closed the grate behind him and slowly crawled forward on his hands and knees. He took care to spread his body weight out evenly across the duct as he moved. Any concentration of his mass could bend the duct work, creating the potential for noise as the metal shaft protested against the unexpected deformation. Worse still, the duct might collapse under his weight if he was not careful.

JC reached a vertical shaft which featured a ladder for maintenance access. JC silently thanked the thoughtful designer of the facility before descending the ladder. JC exited the ventilation system much as he had entered and found himself on the lowest level of the fortress. At one side of this level was the lower exit from the water lock system he had spotted earlier. The terrorists on the speedboats must have been in this very room when they had offloaded their stolen cargo. It was as good a place to begin his search as any.

The lower level was lightly guarded by the occasional patrol of a lone NSF soldier. They were focusing their strength on the staircases leading to the main entrance and their cleverly disguised side entrance, not suspecting anyone would be able to breach their security by the simple expedient of entering the ventilation system. It was a poor judgment that would cost them dearly this evening. JC moved about the subterranean pier, checking behind crates and boxes for the telltale shape of the Ambrosia barrel. As it turned out it had not been well hidden at all. Sitting prominently at the far end of the pier was a canister of glowing green material which seemed to pulsate with a life of its own. Yet again JC Denton had accomplished his objective without firing a shot.

"I've secured the Ambrosia," JC sub vocalized, the nanite transmitters within his vocal chords able to detect his words without the necessity to speak them aloud.

That was when JC Denton's good fortune finally ran out. As if his silent transmission had been detected, an NSF soldier entered the docking area and began a thorough search with a shotgun held at the ready. JC would not be able to hide for long. He made his decision quickly, leaning out from behind cover to launch a tranquilizer dart at the terrorist from his mini crossbow. The dart hit the man in the neck, instantly incapacitating him. The man fell to the deck, dropping his shotgun in the process. The body and the weapon both clattered loudly in a universal sound of distress.

"Is someone there?" a voice in an adjacent hallway asked rhetorically, moving in to investigate. The sounds of heavy sets of boots could be heard approaching from several directions.

Almost as soon as it had abandoned him, fortune returned to grace JC with its presence. From up above came the sounds of gunfire, along with the wail of the security system announcing an imminent threat. The approaching footsteps turned to run towards the staircase leading towards the main entrance. Rather than chase after them, JC remained beside the Ambrosia vaccine. The terrorists might decide to destroy their prize rather than allow UNATCO to retake it, and JC could not allow that.

The gun battle upstairs sounded brutal, but ended in a matter of minutes. The sounds of combat ceased and the sound of heavy footsteps approaching returned. JC readied himself for a firefight, his stealth pistol held out and ready from behind the cover of the Ambrosia barrel. Any thoughts of stealth were abandoned now. The first potential target rounded a corner and JC prepared to fire.

JC quickly lowered his weapon as he realized he had almost taken the head off of a UNATCO trooper. Following close behind was Anna Navarre.

"Objective complete," Alex Jacobson chimed in over the infolink. "Agent Navarre will describe your next assignment and stay behind to protect the Ambrosia."

Anna approached JC, noticing the unconscious form of the NSF terrorist beside him.

"You were too gentle with the NSF, but I cannot complain," Anna judged. "You completed the objective. At least you are not a coward like Paul."

"I'm learning as I go," JC replied.

"You just passed lesson one. Lesson Two is how we deal with the terrorists in the subway station."

"I'm ready."

"The terrorists have wired the platform with explosives and put in hostages. Get the hostages out if you can, but make sure the NSF learns that human shields will not work against UNATCO."

"Nothing we can't handle with a few EMP grenades," JC mused.

"We are thinking the same thought," Anna replied with what appeared to be the barest hint of a smile. "I will equip you with two grenades. They will disable any electronic detonators within a radius of twenty meters."

JC exited Castle Clinton through the main entrance, stepping over several bodies as he made his way out of the NSF fortress. Anna and her UNATCO troopers had made short work of the terrorists. JC couldn't help but respect the bravery of the NSF soldiers who had stayed behind. Surely they had known that UNATCO would break through their defenses. Yet they had stayed and laid their lives on the line to protect their stolen cargo. Why then had these same brave soldiers been so cowardly as to take human shields at the subway station? It didn't fit the profile JC had constructed of the NSF. He did not agree with their cause, but they at least seemed to operate on a set of principles. To threaten to kill hostages violated those principles. If word got out to the public about this incident it would severely weaken the support of the NSF. Maybe the media was right and the NSF were nothing better than common criminals.

In order to approach the subway station JC would have to pass through a shanty town which acted as a home of sorts to several dozen otherwise homeless street urchins. NYPD had cordoned off the area after learning of the hostage situation in the subway station. UNATCO had taken up posts at all entrances to the collection of corrugated metal shelters. The shanty town represented a tactical nightmare, with several potential hiding places for NSF gunmen amongst the innocent civilians who might be caught in the crossfire. The UNATCO soldiers had understandably held back until someone gave them instructions on how to proceed.

JC Denton approached a soldier who seemed to be in charge and exercised the authority granted to him as a special agent of UNATCO. "What's the situation here, Corporal?"

"The NSF seems to be falling back into the subway station. They've got the hostages there. We think they've set up lines of defense in the shanty town and in the staircase leading down to the subway. They've boobytrapped the subway platform – said they would kill the hostages and themselves, too."

JC nodded and took charge, "Secure the shanty town. Try to convince the terrorists to lay down their arms and go quietly."

The UNATCO trooper nodded, relieved to have someone else making a decision for him. He turned and repeated the orders to the rest of the soldiers. They checked their weapons and stepped into the village, feeling as if they were ready for anything. In the end, JC's instructions about a non-violent resolution to the situation proved to be unnecessary. The NSF had other plans.

Hundreds of rounds flew towards the advancing soldiers from the cover of the corrugated metal huts. The metal wasn't thick enough to deflect the returning fire from UNATCO but it did provide a measure of concealment. The two sides were just about evenly matched in terms of manpower and weaponry. However, UNATCO had an ace in the hole in this confrontation. JC Denton followed the advancing UNATCO troopers, dodging between cover where it could be found. Several UNATCO troopers were hit by flying rounds, most clutching the painful bruises beneath their vests while a few unlucky souls fell from fatal shots.

A psychological switch toggled within JC's psyche. Men under his command were being killed. It was more than just his life on the line now. He abandoned stealth and focused instead on unleashing his wrath upon the terrorists. They had taken hostages and threatened to kill them with suicide bombs. These were not the acts of the civilized – these were the acts of desperate madmen. Yet despite all this JC had intended to take as many alive as possible. These terrorists hiding in the homes of unsuspecting civilians were killing his men, however. JC allowed his training to take over, guiding his stealth pistol from target to target. As the sights of his weapon passed over the heads of his targets his weapon seemed to fire of its own accord. One after another the terrorists fell to the ground, puffs of red smoke marking the places their heads had been moments before. Within seconds JC and the UNATCO troopers had cleared the village of NSF resistance, leaving behind only stunned civilians trying to ascertain what had just happened.

JC Denton surveyed his handiwork. He knew he had been capable of such feats of violence but until now it had always been in training against simulated targets. For the first time he saw the effects of his training against live targets. It wasn't pretty. Most of the dead would have to be identified using their dental records as little else remained of their faces. JC knew that a normal person would be feeling something now. Pride? Shock? Satisfaction? Revulsion? But as JC scanned the area for further threats he felt none of these things – only determination to see the mission through and rescue the hostages. Beyond that he had the remaining barrels of Ambrosia to locate. These dead terrorists had chosen to stand up and fight rather than go quietly and they had paid for their foolishness with their lives.

JC glanced down the staircase leading to the subway station. Three NSF stood guard at the landing midway down the steps. They watched him intently, one of them fingering a hand-held device nervously. If JC made a move down the stairs he had little doubt the terrorists would blow themselves up and take the hostages with them. He would find another way.

Off to one side of the station entrance JC noticed steam billowing from a ventilation shaft. He wondered if the same trick would work twice in one mission. The grate protecting the shaft was easily removed, allowing JC to lower himself down into another ventilation system. This one was much older, built along with the original subway construction in the early twentieth century. As such it was much dirtier and had the pungent aroma of dead animals and their excrement. JC descended through a vertical duct until he estimated he had reached the top of the subway platform. He crawled through several horizontal ducts before finding a grate which looked down upon the platform.

JC could see several armed terrorists milling about below. The NSF had corralled the hostages in one corner at the rear of the station. They had placed several large crates of explosives throughout the station, rigged to a laser detection grid spaced between the columns supporting the platform's roof. Several of the terrorists also had hand-held devices which could probably detonate the explosives at a moment's notice. If JC wanted to disarm the explosives he would have to do so all at once, or find a way to disable all of the terrorists simultaneously. Even with both of his EMP grenades he would be unable to disable all of the explosives. Even with his lightning fast reflexes he would be unable to eliminate all of the detonators before one of them had time to react. JC needed another option.

JC returned to the vertical duct and lowered himself one level further to the ground level of the platform. He crawled through the ducts, inspecting grates as he went until he found the one he was looking for. The final grate in the shaft opened into the space directly behind the hostages. If he stayed quiet he would be able to enter the platform and get to the hostages undetected.

JC slowly opened the grate and emerged into the subway station. He remained crouched as he took one final look around the platform before committing to action. In the blink of an eye he gauged distances, lines of sight, and patrol patterns and decided now was the perfect opportunity to make his move.

JC approached the hostages and spoke in a barely audible whisper, "I'm a UNATCO agent. Don't turn around or give any indication that you know I'm here. As soon as I open the train doors, I need you three to be ready to run on board."

All three hostages nodded nervously, frozen by fear as much as by his instructions.

JC took cover behind one of the station's columns and took another look at the patrolling NSF. When his approach was clear he rolled between the columns along the rear of the station, reaching the train car stopped in the subway tube. He looked back towards the hostages who were glancing towards him every few moments. If they weren't careful one of the terrorists would see their eye movement and investigate. The time to act was now.

JC depressed a button on the side of the train car, opening the door wide. The hostages made their move, racing across the platform onto the car. The terrorists had allowed the hours of idle activity to numb their senses but even they couldn't miss the movement of the hostages. Those armed with weapons raised them and fired after their fleeing prey.

The train car had a rudimentary control computer which interpreted instructions from a central dispatching system. It still had a manual override, however, which JC commandeered and pushed to full throttle. The train car leapt into motion, heading north.

As the train car began to move one of the terrorists decided to take one last desperate action to stop the fleeing hostages. He depressed his hand-held detonator, sending an electric shock into the delicate mixture of liquid explosives within the crates. A chain reaction resulted, sending a shock wave of destruction throughout the platform. The terrorists disappeared into the resulting fireball, which scorched the rear car of the subway train as it escaped down the tunnel. The glass windows on the car shattered, sending shards of glass flying at the former hostages. Aside from a few cuts they were otherwise unharmed by the explosion that had been intended to claim their lives. As the adrenaline coursing through their veins dissipated, all three began shaking involuntarily. They had all expected to die that night and had this mysterious UNATCO agent to thank for saving them.

JC Denton pushed the train to its limits as it travelled north towards its next station, which happened to be the closest station to the NSF Headquarters building. He knew he should feel elated at his successes thus far tonight but he knew his mission was far from complete. He would not rest until they had recaptured every barrel of the Ambrosia vaccine. He had taken pride in his ability to overcome his obstacles on Liberty Island without taking a life. That was no longer of any concern to JC. The terrorists had gone too far, taking hostages and trying to blow them up. They thought they knew better than their elected government what to do with the precious Ambrosia vaccine purchased with American tax dollars. They thought they were morally justified in taking whatever actions they deemed necessary to usurp their country's leadership. JC felt as if ice ran through his veins, so cold was his determination to put an end to the terrorists who were murdering people on the streets of their great nation.

He would stop them or die trying.


	8. Chapter 8  Hell's Kitchen

CHAPTER 8 – HELL'S KITCHEN

Hell's Kitchen, New York City, New York

Several miles north of Battery Park along the Hudson River, the area known to locals as Hell's Kitchen had once been an attractive neighborhood. It had originally served as a haven for working-class Irish immigrants. In the latter half of the twentieth century the neighborhood had been transformed into a home for artists and performers due to its proximity to local theaters and studios. The neighborhood had always been a transportation hub, from the era of horse-drawn carriages and steam ships through the years of automobiles, busses, and subway trains.

Recent changes to New York City had threatened to cut off Hell's Kitchen from the surrounding business districts that kept a steady flow of capital into the area. A controversial decision to divide New York City into isolated districts had changed the landscape dramatically. The NY Grid Law was passed in 2046 after a brutal series of bombings terrorized the city. The law had since been upheld by the Supreme Court as the safety and security of the people were deemed more important than their individual liberties. The days of endless streams of cars, taxis, and busses ferrying young professionals from place to place were over. Today anyone travelling between districts had to pass through police checkpoints. Vehicles were thoroughly inspected and everyone was subject to invasive searches. These changes had brought economic stagnation to Hell's Kitchen. The once vibrant district had fallen into disrepair. Crime and gang violence were up and the police were hesitant to venture too far from the safety of surrounding districts.

The subway train piloted by JC Denton passed beneath several of these districts as it approached its destination at Hell's Kitchen. JC was already familiar with the area. His brother, Paul, leased an apartment in the neighborhood and JC had visited him there several times over the years. Aerial maps had shown that Paul's apartment was only blocks away from the local headquarters of the NSF.

The train car slowed to a stop as it entered the Hell's Kitchen Metro Station. JC exited first, followed closely by the former hostages from the Battery Park station. They had already thanked JC profusely for saving their lives. All JC asked in return was to know anything they had seen that might indicate where the terrorists had taken the Ambrosia. Unfortunately, the hostages had been blindfolded for most of their captivity. They had heard the subway train move off before returning, leading JC to believe that UNATCO's intelligence had been correct. The terrorists were holding the stolen cargo of Ambrosia vaccine at their headquarters near the Hell's Kitchen Metro Station. Their resolve had been proven by their desperate actions at Battery Park. They had sacrificed the lives of several NSF troops in the shanty town and half a dozen more in the Metro Station just to slow down their pursuers.

JC heard the distinctive sound of gunfire in the distance as he climbed the stairs leading out of the subway station. Halfway up the staircase he met his brother Paul.

"What's the situation here?" JC asked.

"You're taking over," Paul replied. "I've got to get my team ready to raid the warehouse."

"What about the EMP field?"

"Still in place. Your primary objective will be to locate and disable its power source, probably an industrial-sized generator in a large building."

"I'll question some of the locals."

"I ordered the civilians to take cover a block south of here in the free clinic and at the Underworld Tavern, down on the corner."

"Maybe I'll start with the tavern. Why'd you have to clear the street?"

"There's still a heavy NSF presence in the streets, and we're taking some fire. We could use your help if you get the chance."

"Maybe I'll do that," JC agreed.

"If you need any extra equipment, here's the key to my place at the 'Ton Hotel," Paul said as he handed over a nanokey. "Check the secret closet. Remember? The keypad's behind the painting."

"Just like the movies. Second floor, right?"

"Yeah, and take a charger for the riot prod – we don't need another Anna Navarre shooting spree."

"Whatever you say," JC replied, recalling his own shooting spree in the shanty town of Battery Park. He suddenly felt a bit ashamed for his actions.

"And JC – we'll be waiting for you to take down that EMP field. Use reasonable force like you did on Liberty Island."

JC nodded and continued up the staircase to emerge into a warzone.

The NSF and UNATCO soldiers were caught in a battle throughout the district. Neither side seemed to have a clear advantage. UNATCO had the edge in numbers and equipment, but the NSF had the advantage of being able to choose when and where to engage their opponents. UNATCO knew the location of the NSF headquarters, but the NSF had spread its forces throughout Hell's Kitchen. Like any effective insurgency, the NSF had integrated itself with the local population and disappeared. They were out of hiding now, however, and making their presence known through violent action.

JC felt the urge to go and fight alongside the UNATCO troopers, but his mission was more important than the sporadic skirmishes in the streets. If he couldn't help UNATCO recover the Ambrosia vaccine then the deaths of the soldiers who fell tonight would count for nothing. Worse, the deaths of thousands infected by the Gray Death plague who missed their doses of the vaccine would be on his shoulders.

JC turned away from the gunfire and headed towards the relative safety of the Underworld Tavern. Along the way he found two UNATCO soldiers standing guard. One of them turned to JC as he approached, "Denton! Hey, it's Denton!"

"You want these?" the second soldier asked.

"Give'im the grenades!" the first chimed in.

"Look, I know he's your brother, but..." the second continued.

"Your brother gave us these things!" the first explained, showing off a tear gas grenade. "Look at this, 'irritation to all exposed mucus membranes' – what's that gonna do?"

"Just tell Paul to give us bullets next time," the second soldier pleaded.

"Here's one: 'Prolonged exposure can damage the bronchial pathways.' Prolonged exposure? It's like giving 'em cigarettes or something."

"Look, do you want these things?" the second soldier asked, waving three of the grenades towards JC.

"Sure, hand'em over," JC replied, taking the non-lethal weapons.

"Here you go, with my compliments," the soldier replied, glad to be rid of them. "Good luck."

"Gonna be some really sniffly terrorists!" the first scoffed as JC continued through the entrance to the Underground Tavern.

The Underground was the very definition of a dive bar; a place where the upper and lower classes could rub elbows and share drinks. Celebrities came to slum with the masses. Thieves came to prey upon the weak. All came to escape their normal lives through alcohol, worshipping at the altar in the chapel of the down-and-out. Now, however, this place had become a shelter for anyone who had been caught outside when a war had broken out on the streets of New York. The regulars could be distinguished by the way they acted as if this was business as usual, drinking at the bar and watching the crowd with a mixture of curiosity and casual dismissal. The crowd was understandably on edge, watching each other with suspicion and jumping when the sound of gunfire occasionally penetrated the brick walls.

The denizens of the Underground Tavern looked up as JC Denton entered the establishment. They glared at him with annoyance as if they thought the trench coated figure might bring the battle inside with him. JC glared back, surveying the faces for threats. Seeing none, he looked for a likely candidate to help him learn more about the warehouses hiding the NSF a few blocks away. He started by approaching the bar and speaking to the bartender, a middle-aged female sporting some heavy mechanical augmentation.

"Name's Jordan Shea. What can I get you?" the bartender said in greeting.

JC didn't bother giving his name. "You work here; you must know the area. Heard of an old warehouse with an illegal power generator?"

"Not exactly," Jordan replied, "but if you're looking for a warehouse, you should probably start in the warehouse district."

"Where's that?" JC asked, feigning ignorance.

"A few blocks south, not a bad walk, but the riot police have blocked the roads because of the NSF."

"I'd like to check it out."

"Well you may be out of luck. Even though one of the old warehouses faces onto Hell's Kitchen Park, I don't know how you'd get inside."

"Sounds like a good place to start."

"Something to drink? Everything in the bar, snacks too, just ten credits," Jordan waved a mechanical arm, gesturing to the wall of alcohol and spirits behind the bar.

"That's some heavy augmentation," JC remarked.

"Yeah. Ex-UNATCO, what's it to you?"

"I'm in the business."

"Well, I was in an early program, okay? I can still polish a glass. Good luck with your 'business.'"

Clearly Jordan had not left UNATCO on good terms and JC doubted she cared to help much tonight. JC decided he would have better luck talking to the rest of the crowd.

His next candidate was a male patron standing beside the bar, sipping a bottle of beer and watching the crowd. The man was dressed in a leather jacket that covered what appeared to be a black flight suit. He seemed to feel at ease despite the obvious tension in the room. Maybe he knew something the crowd didn't. Or maybe he was simply too intoxicated to care that the world was self destructing outside.

"Mind if I ask you a few questions?" JC asked the man.

"Hey, you look like the vigilante type," the man replied. "What if I said where you could load up on military hardware in this neighborhood?"

"Where's that?"

"That's valuable information. You'll have to come up with some kind of payment. How about liquor?"

"I don't have any liquor."

"The bar's to my left," the man replied.

JC returned to the bartender and ordered a Brown Bullet from Jordan and handed it to the man.

"That'll do. I'm Jock, by the way. The arms dealer's named Smuggler. A real paranoid nut; wires himself in with booby traps. But he knows things; there's stuff in the sewers that only Smuggler knows about."

"Thanks. Maybe I'll pay him a visit," JC offered, filing the information away. He wasn't in the market for weapons at the moment, however. Sam Carter could provide any equipment he might need.

"Now I'll tell you something you can't hear from anybody but me."

"What's that?" JC asked, allowing his hopes to rise. Maybe the man knew something about the NSF headquarters and how to shut down their generators.

"Area 51. You heard of it, right?"

"Actually, I'd rather hear whether you know anything about a warehouse with an illicit generator," JC replied.

"I worked out there. Most people think they've got aliens from another planet, but I didn't see any flying saucers. You want to hear about it, I'll tell you – for the price of a beer."

JC needed hard intelligence, not conspiracy theories. However, this man seemed willing to talk. Maybe if he listened long enough the man might be willing to answer some relevant questions. JC bought the man another round of beer, adding a frosty bottle to a small collection.

"I appreciate it," Jock replied, finishing off one beer and beginning anew. "Yep, I know for a fact Area 51 is not just for government research. I've seen all kinds of executives coming and going."

"I'm sure plenty of bureaucrats fly out there."

"Billionaires. Big executives. I think the whole place has been taken over by a private corporation."

"Not likely."

"Something's going on underground. I'm a pilot, which means I didn't get access to the main complex, but a lot of rock comes out of there; it's some kind of mine. But what I don't understand is why they're always laying more fiber-optic cables."

"A pilot? What do you fly?"

"Copters. You know what I think? I think that's where the UN moved Echelon IV, back when they promised they were going to stop spying on people."

"Surveillance is a very distributed technology," JC observed. "To centralize it in one large facility would be very unusual – even for the U.N."

"I bet they did it," Jock replied, finishing off the beer. "They want to centralize everything – every computer on the planet. But for now this old bird's had enough. Hell, I'm about to go on duty."

"What kind of chopper pilot starts work at midnight?"

"You're with UNATCO, right?"

"Why do you ask?" JC asked guardedly.

"I'm the one that flies your brother Paul to Hong Kong. He told me to watch out for you."

"I didn't know UNATCO hired pilots," JC replied, still unsure about the man.

"The black choppers are run by the NSA to support various classified operations. The Pentagon uses them, the CIA... They hired me because I don't ask any questions."

"What was Paul's assignment in Hong Kong?" JC asked.

"Like I said, I know how to keep a secret – even between brothers."

"So he's holding something back – the reason UNATCO transferred him back to the States."

"Listen to your brother, JC," Jock replied. "Respect his experience. Let's leave it at that."

JC nodded and began looking for a new source of intelligence. He caught the eyes of a young female looking back, seeming to plead for help without words. She seemed too young to be here to drink and was dressed in a skimpy leather top that sent all the signals of a prostitute. JC wondered if she had been working the streets when the shooting started. Maybe someone who had seen the fighting firsthand would have something more relevant to share.

"Hey, you with the troops?" the girl asked as JC approached. "I'm Janey. I need help."

"What's the problem?" JC asked. The neighborhood must be in trouble if the locals didn't even bother calling the police anymore.

"Actually, it's my friend. Johnny took her into the alley west of here, across the street."

"Slow down. Who's Johnny?"

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Janey replied. "He was mad. He gets crazy when he's mad."

"Don't worry," JC replied. "I'll check it out." Maybe Johnny or this mystery girl might actually know what was going on in the neighborhood.

JC turned back towards the entrance to leave. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed another individual was paying a bit too much attention to him. Most of the crowd had quickly looked away after JC had entered but one set of eyes kept coming back, sizing him up. The eyes belonged to a man dressed in a tacky gray suit sitting alone and sipping a mixed drink. Clearly JC had done something to attract the man's interest. JC made a point to veer towards the man's table on his way towards the door.

"Joe Greene, Midnight Sun," the man spoke as JC passed by. "Glad to know you. What can you tell me about what's going on out there?"

JC inwardly groaned. He should have known. "Sorry. Regulations prevent me from talking to the press."

"Regulations, eh? So you ARE part of the crackdown."

"Like I said, I have nothing to say."

"Too stylish for the National Guard, too athletic for NYPD – you must be from UNATCO."

"How about I ask you a few questions?" JC replied, trying to turn the tables on the reporter.

"Splendid. I certainly would like to know what an international antiterrorist organization expects to find in a dive like this."

"Heard anything about a secret NSF power-generator?" JC asked.

"Aha-a-a," Joe exclaimed, as if JC had just given up a great secret. "Playing the detective, are we? I take it you've been assigned to eliminate certain weapons systems... defenses, maybe? Am I getting warm?"

"On second thought, I don't need your help," JC back-pedaled, realizing too late that he had walked right into a trap.

"Then let me ask YOU a question," Joe continued. "What do YOU think about the summary executions happening on the very streets of New York?"

"I'd call it civil unrest," JC replied guardedly.

"Let me be more pointed. How does it feel to be ordered to murder civilians just because they support the fastest-growing political movement in this nation's history?"

"In a democracy, armed rebellion is criminal, not political," JC replied, growing impatient with the conversation.

"Rebellion, as the Declaration of Independence tells us, is not only our 'right' but our 'duty' when we have suffered 'a long train of abuses and usurpations.' Thank you for your time, Agent. Don't worry. I'll say 'sources within UNATCO' if I quote you."

JC blinked hard, mentally rewinding the conversation and realizing how much ammunition he had unwittingly provided the reporter. So far his fact-finding mission was off to a poor start. He had wasted time buying drinks for a crazy pilot about to go on duty and spilled his guts to a reporter from a cheap tabloid. He needed to get this mission back on track fast.

JC stepped outside the bar and checked to make sure the battle had moved on. He followed Janey's directions and ducked into an alley to the west of the bar. He could hear the sound of a man's voice yelling and picked up his pace.

"What I'm TELLIN' you, girl?" the male voice shouted.

"You said I didn't have to," a female voice protested. "Make Janey do it."

"I already took the money, and when it's JoJo and it's somethin' he wants, you got to do it. You and me both, baby. We helpless."

"We were just gonna hang out today."

"I TOLD you how it don't play with me, this amateur unprofessional bullshit."

"Johnny..."

"If it's business, it's business. If it's us two hangin' out, then we hang out. Right now it's business."

"I want out, Johnny. I didn't know it would get like this."

"Put it this way. You do it. You want out it's like a gang; you get beat out. Girl, don't make me tell you again."

"I'm sick, Johnny. I really am. I gotta lie down."

"What you want?" Johnny demanded as JC approached.

"You've got ten seconds to beat it before I add you to the list of NSF casualties," JC spoke, his voice laced with ice.

"Easy, bro'," Johnny replied, hands raised. "Just havin' us a conversation."

"Five seconds."

"Girl's got a head full of marbles. I HAVE to yell or she'd don't hear me."

"Three."

"She schitzes on me it's my ass, man!"

"One."

"All right!" Johnny exclaimed as he walked away. "I'm goin'. Jesus." The man disappeared down the street, leaving JC alone with the girl.

"Thanks," the girl spoke. "I'm Sandra."

The name rang a bell with JC. This was Sandra Renton, daughter of Gilbert Renton, the owner of the 'Ton Hotel where his brother Paul lived. JC was glad to help a family friend. He wondered if Gilbert knew about the company his daughter was keeping.

"Sucks to get backed into a corner," JC observed.

"You shouldna threatened Johnny. Soon as JoJo finds out..."

"Who's this 'JoJo'?"

"You can't touch JoJo. He doesn't go out, and there's only two ways to the warehouse."

"Warehouse?" JC asked, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere.

"You think you can sneak into Osgood's at the park, but in the first place it's locked and if you go underground he's got laser tripwires, drone guns – military-type stuff. Plus there are guards on the roof."

According to a map JC had studied before the mission, one of the warehouses adjoining the NSF headquarters building had once been owned by Osgood and Sons. There was an entrance facing Hell's Kitchen Park, one of many battlegrounds in the district. Apparently this JoJo had something to do with the local pimps and thugs. Did that mean he also had contacts with the NSF as well?

"Tell you what. I'll handle JoJo. You stay out of the way until the NSF have pulled back."

JC left Sandra Renton where she stood, ever compliant to a voice of authority. He didn't have time to lecture the girl on making smart choices or standing up for herself. She had helped him in his mission, however, and he sincerely hoped she would get her life together. He now knew what kinds of defenses to expect as he made his way towards his destination. He could attempt to breach the security systems from underground or try to sneak past the snipers on the roof tops surrounding the NSF headquarters.

JC returned to the Underworld, again receiving a cold reception. One face, however, was relieved to see him. Janey approached, desperate for news about her friend.

"I think your friend is going to be all right," JC spoke.

The relief on Janey's face was readily apparent, but it was tainted with a tinge of remaining concern. "What about Johnny?" she asked.

"I gave him a good scare," JC replied.

"I hope he doesn't think I ratted him out."

"What can you tell me about his boss, JoJo?"

"Oh, JoJo. He's nothing, man. We used to go out. His body mods? Cosmetic. Scars? I saw him cut his face one time just so he'd look mean. If you ever want to get into the warehouse where he hides out, I know the code. It's 3316."

"Thanks. You've been very helpful."

The sound of gunfire grew steadily louder as JC approached Hell's Kitchen Park. He had been fortunate to avoid most of the fighting so far but it was clear that he would have to get involved now. JC was almost there when his infolink chimed and Alex Jacobson spoke, "We're getting reports of a hostage situation in the 'Ton Hotel, which is at the southeast corner of the block."

JC took a slight detour and approached the front entrance to the 'Ton Hotel. Two UNATCO soldiers stood to each side of the door, their gaze flicking between the shadows of the city street and the door's frosted glass, unsure from where trouble might strike first. One of the soldiers jumped as JC approached, raising his rifle momentarily before recognizing him.

"What's your business here, Agent?" the soldier asked. "The NSF retreated in here about half an hour ago, and they've taken hostages. We're waiting for a specialist."

"I'm your specialist. Just tell me where the hostages are being held."

"No one's standing in your way, but you'll have to go in alone. Our orders are to hold the perimeter. We think the terrorists are on the second floor."

"Carry on, Corporal," JC said as he turned and walked away. The soldier stared after him, confused as to where he was going. JC was not suicidal enough to try to enter through the front door. It was a natural choke point and the first place the NSF would set their defenses. Fortunately, JC had spent enough time in this building to know every way in and out. He rounded the side of the building, entering the alley between the hotel and the surrounding structures. An ancient escape ladder scaled the side of the hotel to meet fire code requirements long since neglected in this neighborhood. Even in its rusted condition the ladder was still safe enough to use, however. JC leaped to grab the bottom rung of the ladder and pulled himself up to the first landing. JC edged along an iron balcony spanning the second floor until he reached the appropriate window. JC knew Paul wouldn't have handed him a key to his place if he had intended him to enter through the window, but given the circumstances he thought his brother would understand.

The apartment hadn't changed since he had last visited. In fact, the place hardly looked lived in. Paul spent so much time overseas on missions for UNATCO that keeping an address in New York seemed almost redundant. The rooms were sparsely decorated, save for a single painting on the wall of the living room. The painting hung slightly ajar and easily pulled away from the wall on a hinge to reveal a combination pad. JC typed the combination he had long ago memorized, starting at four and counting backwards to one. The room's bookshelf split in two and pivoted open to each side, revealing Paul's panic room. The room was equipped with a computer with independent network access and a variety of weapons and ammunition. JC picked up an EMP grenade and a few clips for his stealth pistol. He might need them to resolve the hostage situation outside if things went south.

Feeling ready for anything, JC approached the apartment's door and opened it a crack. The ancient wooden door creaked as it opened, but there was no one within earshot. JC peered through the narrow opening and saw that the hotel's hallway was in dire need of new carpeting and wallpaper. More importantly, however, he saw that several people were positioned in the hallway on their knees, their hands tied behind their backs. The hostages were guarded by two terrorists further down the hall, focusing their attention on a staircase which led up from the lobby. Clearly they expected any threats to come from the front door through the lobby. JC saw this as an opportunity to take a few of the terrorists alive for questioning. He pulled out his mini-crossbow and loaded a cartridge of tranquilizer darts. He lined up the sights of the crossbow on the head of the closest terrorist and pulled the trigger. By the time the terrorist registered the prick of the dart, the tranquilizer had already taken effect, dropping him to the ground. Before his partner could turn to see what had happened he too was knocked unconscious.

JC approached the hostages from the rear and startled them as he spoke, "Stay where you are. Soldiers will come for you."

He walked down the staircase towards the lobby and spotted several more terrorists crouching behind decorative pillars. Their attention was also focused towards the front door. JC raised his mini-crossbow to repeat his takedown strategy from the hallway, but he was not fortunate enough to have the same plan work twice. One of the terrorists glanced over his shoulder momentarily and saw JC drawing a bead with the crossbow. The man opened his mouth to shout a warning just as a dart impacted him in the center of his forehead. He fell to the ground with the warning stuck on his tongue, but still succeeded in making a choked exclamation before losing complete control. The other terrorists in the lobby reacted impulsively, sending bullets flying in every direction. Several shots ricocheted dangerously close to JC's position as he crouched behind the solid parapet of the staircase. He was not armed for a last stand against a small horde of enemies rushing his position.

JC adjusted his plan, retrieving one of his newly acquired tear gas grenades from his belt. These non-lethal weapons, if used properly, could be every bit as effective as a rifle. The grenade arced through the air in a perfect toss that ended directly in the center of the lobby. A super-concentrated cloud of tear gas erupted, enveloping the terrorists. Within seconds they were completely incapacitated, their lungs burning and sending signals to their brains that there was no oxygen left in the air to breathe. The NSF terrorists erupted into a fit of coughing and gagging. JC peeked over his cover long enough to see that all of his targets were affected before bringing his crossbow to bear, knocking each unconscious with well-aimed tranquilizer darts. These men were willing to trade the lives of innocent civilians to buy their compatriots more time to escape UNATCO's grasp. He would have been well within regulations to kill them all. They were not going to get out that easily, however. They would live to answer for their despicable actions tonight.

JC saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled to face it. In one smooth movement JC returned the mini-crossbow to its holster and brought his stealth pistol to bear. Using the stealth pistol as a natural extension of his will, he aimed the weapon towards the hotel's front desk. His finger depressed the trigger slightly, waiting for a reason to complete the action. Two hands quickly shot out from behind the front desk, causing JC to relax slightly but not completely.

"Stand up. Slowly," JC commanded.

The quivering hands rose, revealing the portly figure of Gilbert Renton, the owner and proprietor of the 'Ton Hotel. JC dropped his aim to the ground and allowed himself to relax further.

"I think that's all of them," Gilbert gasped. "You got the guys upstairs?"

"Yeah," JC replied. "You can have your hotel back."

"The hotel, good. Now we just have to kick these punks out of Manhattan."

"My brother Paul's heading up the operation. The NSF won't have New York for long. By the way, I saw your daughter down the street. She didn't look so good."

"Sandra? Was she coming back to the hotel?"

"I took care of a thug who was harassing her, but she's still mixed up in some pretty nasty business. You better talk to her."

"No, no more talking," Gilbert shook his head. "I don't care what she's been doing; she can come home, no questions, no speeches. I should probably go find her. They think they're invincible at that age. Thanks for looking out for her."

JC nodded and approached the front door of the hotel. Knowing what the UNATCO soldiers outside would do if he merely approached the door and opened it, he shouted a warning, "One man coming out!" JC hoped that would be enough to convince them not to shoot him as he exited. JC waited several seconds before slowly opening the doors, finding the troops still pointing their weapons at him.

JC spoke, "There were a couple of NSF on the second floor. I took care of the situation. All hostiles are incapacitated but you'd better secure them before they wake up."

The troops relaxed, lowering their weapons. One replied, "What about the hostages?"

"Doing fine. You guys can relax."

"Good work, Agent. I'm glad they made it. We'll take it from here."

JC left the soldiers to their work and continued down the street towards Hell's Kitchen Park. The sounds of combat had yet to fade. JC surveyed the carnage from the safety of a side street and saw that UNATCO had the NSF in a fighting retreat towards the entrance to Osgood and Sons. Bullets whizzed through the air and JC realized he was entering a target rich environment.

JC took cover behind a wrecked car, nodding to several UNATCO troopers who had the same idea. They took turns popping out of cover to spray indiscriminate fire in the direction of the NSF, who were largely doing the same in return. The battle showed signs of becoming a stalemate now. JC took the initiative and advanced, moving between what cover he could find. Neither side had much in the way of proper situational awareness, so few rounds were aimed his way as he moved. JC decided his plan would work as long as he wasn't hit from behind by friendly fire. As soon as JC was close enough he popped open the safety cover of another tear gas grenade. JC primed the grenade and hurled it in an arc that intersected with the largest group of NSF huddling behind cover. The terrorists were so focused on the battle that they missed the impact of the grenade behind their lines. They all noticed its effects, however, as soon as the grenade detonated. Several were distracted enough to stand up in an attempt to escape the painful effects of the gas. Those that rose from behind their cover were quickly gunned down by UNATCO soldiers, who quickly reacted to the change in the momentum of the battle.

JC led the charge towards Osgood and Sons, flanked on both sides by UNATCO soldiers eager to finish off the remaining resistance. As they rushed the building they picked off targets of opportunity as they presented themselves. Within moments the battle was over and the few NSF left among the living surrendered. JC recalled his brother's instructions and decided this bloodbath was unavoidable, as were the battles in Battery Park. Non-violent solutions were best when stealth was the objective, but the NSF were the ones who had started this fight. Left with no alternatives, JC decided he had no qualms about finishing it. His brother would understand.

The soldiers breached the entrance to the warehouse and entered with military precision. The building was quickly and thoroughly searched and found to be empty. There were no signs of any power generators or transmission equipment. An elevator in the rear of the warehouse was the only other way in or out. The elevator was protected by a combination pad. JC entered the combination Janey had given him and it opened without objection. JC entered the elevator, followed by several UNATCO troopers. JC waved the troopers off, ordering them to stay behind and root out any remaining pockets of resistance. They were better suited to protecting the locals than making a covert insertion into a hardened enemy position.

The doors of the elevator slid closed, leaving JC alone to contemplate his next choice. He pressed a button, sending the elevator into motion. The car arrived at the top floor, depositing JC onto the roof of the structure. Several buildings away, JC's objective was finally in sight. The NSF headquarters building was lit up like a Christmas tree, and spot lights canvassed the area around the structure. With a little stealth and good fortune he would locate the generators that provided electricity to the building's security systems. UNATCO was depending on him to drop those defenses before they dropped the hammer on the enemy.

As JC mapped out his approach he mused to himself that they were expecting an awful lot of him on his first day at work.


End file.
